The Men that I Used to Sport with
by Demented Amanuensis
Summary: Written for the ss hg winter exchange 2007/8. Threesome fic - don't like, don't read! Summary: If you want something to remain a secret, don't tell anybody about it. So why is Harry surprised when somebody uses the Resurrection Stone andbrings back Snape
1. Prologue

THE MEN THAT I USED TO SPORT WITH

THE MEN THAT I USED TO SPORT WITH

PROLOGUE

I WENT UP INTO THE MOUNTAIN

The night was cold and gusty; a lopsided moon, clothed in ever-changing shreds of clouds, drifted towards west. The elements were aware that the figure hurrying through the Forbidden Forest had a purpose which would have been at odds with a less ominous scenery.

It was early November, the castle and grounds of Hogwarts lay under an inch-high, rather threadbare blanket of snow, which had fallen only the day before. But here, in the very heart of the wood, beneath the canopy of trees as old as the castle itself, there was not even a smattering of white. The frost had come early; the earth was hard and dry under a layer of dead leaves forming a carpet of decay that muffled the sounds of footsteps. It was wet in places, and slippery, and made for dangerous footing.

The figure proceeded swiftly but carefully, its left hand holding on to the hood of a heavy winter cloak, to keep it in place, the right gripping a wand between thumb and index finger, the other three fingers fanning out as if ready to cushion a fall.

It was the left hand, thrown into relief every now and then by a pale needle of moonlight piercing the leafy ceiling, that told the centaur watching from the shades that the figure hurrying past him was a female of the human species. He frowned and shook his head in ever-new wonderment – humans, always so wrapped up in their own futile pursuits, so sure of themselves and their perception of reality, so easily caught by surprise.

Noiselessly, he slid an arrow out of the quiver and lifted his bow. The female was trespassing. A good fright and maybe a little flesh wound, nothing serious, would teach her to keep out of centaur territory.

The wind was changing – he could tell from the whiff of moisture it was now carrying.

Humidity and, clinging to the minuscule droplets, the smell of distress. The female was very obviously experiencing some strong emotion; whether fear, sadness or something else, he couldn't say. His nostrils flared – yes, the telltale tang of human anguish was there, unmistakeably.

Curiosity awakened, the centaur let the arrow glide back into the quiver and silently followed the figure. She walked on through the near-absolute darkness, stumbling only once, and finally came to a halt at the edge of a clearing. After a few seconds' pause to calm her ragged breathing, she raised a wand.

The centaur ducked reflexively, then smirked at his own reaction. She hadn't noticed him. The wand pointed in the opposite direction.

His sense of smell was better developed than his hearing; he thought she might have pronounced a summoning spell, but was sure only when the object she'd called came soaring through the night and landed in her outstretched palm with a barely audible slap.

The centaur narrowed his eyes. There was too little light, but he thought he had seen the thing shimmer faintly. It could be anything, really. He further approached the figure, who was now standing hunched, examining whatever her spell had brought to her.

The bow threatened to slip from his shoulder, momentarily distracting the centaur from his observation. When he looked back at the woman, his right hand flew to his mouth, stifling a gasp.

The woman wasn't alone anymore.

She was also quite obviously unhappy with the shadowy figure that had appeared next to her.

'Severus!' It came out as a sibilant whisper. 'But I… I wanted Sirius!'

The shadowy form gave an unghostly snort. 'Story of my life in a nutshell.'

The woman made a noise half between a sob and a hiss.

The centaur's shoulder brushed against a low-hanging branch, dislodging a shrivelled chestnut husk that the wind had failed to remove. Its spikes made it bounce off the tree's roots with a sharp crack followed by the distinct rustle of the husk rolling into a mound of dry leaves.

The woman gave a small shriek and ran off into the darkness, leaving behind a disgruntled, shadowy figure and the object she'd summoned earlier, but dropped in fright.

Seconds later, the centaur heard a faraway crack. They were close to the border of Hogwarts' territory; the woman had Disapparated as soon as she'd crossed the wards.

After a few unsuccessful attempts at picking the thing up from the ground, the shadowy figure seemed to understand that its immaterial hands went straight through whichever solid object they touched. It disappeared into the darkness, muttering invectives.

The clearing remained empty and silent. The centaur emerged from his hiding place and picked up the object. Humans, he thought, scratching his head. They really were irrational beings – who else would put themselves in danger in order to possess a worthless old ring with a broken stone? Probably a family heirloom of some kind; humans were peculiar about things handed down over generations, no matter how useless, broken or worthless.

Or had she used it to…?

It might not be so worthless then, but dangerous, very dangerous.

He dropped the ring into his quiver. He had more important things to do than idly speculate on the doings of humans. The unicorn mare would give birth any day now, and it was his turn to keep watch over her.

The ring could wait until later.


	2. Chapter 1 Part 1

CHAPTER ONE

MY SLEEP IT WAS LONG, IT WAS TWENTY YEARS DEEP.

Everyday life, Hermione thought, had a way of… well, not exactly blinding us, maybe, because things were there as they always were, as real and visible as ever. But, with time, they sort of faded into the background. As with those trick images hiding both an old crone and a young maiden, depending on how you looked at them, you had to make a conscious effort for the background of your everyday life to snap into sharper relief.

Her everyday life was easily summed up. Hermione Weasley was a forty-one year-old, Muggleborn witch, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, married to Ronald Weasley, also aged forty-one. The couple had a daughter, Rose, aged fifteen, and a son, Hugo, aged thirteen, both at Hogwarts. The family lived in a nice cottage in the wizarding community of Tinworth, Cornwall, which Hermione left every day, except on Saturdays and Sundays, at half-seven a.m.

She liked her job and was good at it; otherwise she wouldn't have been able to climb to so important a position through the ranks of the Ministry of Magic so quickly and at such a relatively young age. Gone were the days when a pureblood pedigree, full Gringotts vault and empty brain had been enough to secure a wizard or witch (though mostly wizard) a sinecure at the Ministry. Nowadays, you needed drive, ambition, skills and a spotless past.

Hermione certainly had all those things in abundance. At the relatively tender age of forty-one, her personal integrity had become something of a myth.

After the Battle of Hogwarts, she, Ron and Harry could've had anything they wanted. It would have sufficed to crook a finger, and Ron would have been made Keeper for the English National Quidditch team; nobody would have objected to Harry becoming the youngest Minister for Magic ever, and Hogwarts' staff would probably have kissed the hem of Hermione's robes, had she chosen to ask for the job of Headmistress. Such was the power the trio could have brought to bear, had it chosen to do so.

Not that the topic hadn't been subject of many a heated argument among the three friends. Ron especially had been tempted more than once to present his wish list to a Fairy Godmother that came in the somewhat incongruous shape of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

But Harry and Hermione had always managed to dissuade him, although they'd done so for different reasons.

Harry, who was plainly suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, was too burned-out and tired to wish for anything other than peace, sleep and anonymity. Hermione, on the other hand, had matured way beyond her years during the year they'd played hide-and-seek with Voldemort, his Death Eaters and the Ministry; she'd known instinctively that an untimely fulfilment of wishes, which ought to remain wishes until they'd reached thrice their age, would leave all of them empty and hollowed-out in the long run.

So she'd very reasonably suggested that Harry go into Muggle therapy, and that all three of them return to Hogwarts come fall, in order to help rebuild the school and finish their training, and finally to take their N.E.W.T.s like every other young wizard or witch.

Following through with their plan – at some point, it had become theirs and not only hers – had been difficult at times, because going back to school after the year they'd spent avoiding capture and death by the skin of their teeth had felt like shrinking back into lives they'd outgrown long ago. In the end, though, the effort had paid off, at least as far as their mental health and well-being was concerned.

In terms of academic achievement, only Hermione's endeavours deserved to be called a success.

After their N.E.W.T.s, which they'd sat two years after Voldemort's downfall, Hermione had had to acknowledge that there was no more holding back either Harry or Ron from dropping unsubtle hints to the Fairy Godmother.

Although neither of the two had come anywhere close to the score necessary to enter Auror training, neither of them was willing to renounce a dream they'd been hatching for years. So they'd braved their curly-haired friend's vituperative glares and scathing disapproval, and obtained the Minister's special permission to enrol at the Auror Academy, where of course everybody from the Rector down to the janitor was beside themselves with pride at having these dazzling suns illuminate their humble institution.

Hermione's N.E.W.T. results had caused a swarm of owls, sent by eager would-be employers, to invade the home of Mr and Ms Granger, who'd been retrieved from Australia two years earlier with their memories restored.

After their return, and before going back to Hogwarts, she'd stayed for a couple of months with her parents, hoping to re-establish the relationship they'd had before she'd made her momentous decision to alter their memories and send them off to safety, without so much as asking their opinion on the matter.

Those had been difficult months for all three of them, but in the end their joint effort had paid off. They'd forged an entirely new relationship, more adult and honest than before.

When Hermione returned home after her N.E.W.T.s, half-frightened, half-fascinated by the many possibilities offered her, Mr and Mrs Granger had taken a great deal of interest in her professional future and done their best to advise her. All the same, she'd had a hard time choosing, and in the end she'd opted for Magical Law Enforcement.

She'd never quite forgotten the encounter with the then-Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, that had taken place only a few days before she, Harry and Ron had been forced to leave the Burrow and their childhood.

That meeting hadn't been the first time she'd realized that she wanted to make a difference – Draco's hateful comments about her Muggle background and the wizarding world's attitude towards House Elves had made that goal abundantly clear years ago. But it had been the first time she'd voiced the thought to someone who wasn't friend or family. She intended to make the wizarding world a better place for everyone, apply her considerable power and skills to ensuring that something like the Voldemort years was never again to happen.

With time and experience, she had of course come to understand that the bad guys were always one step ahead.

After the damage Voldemort's Muggle- and Muggleborn-hating propaganda had inflicted upon the wizarding society, people were sufficiently aware of the danger inherent in this particular ideology to refrain from following it for the next two hundred years or so. But racism and supremacist ideologies come in many guises, not always immediately recognizable as what they really are; she'd realized that very quickly. She'd fought relentlessly, for witches' rights, for Magical Creatures' rights, for animals' rights, using – as Ron never failed to point out – the leverage her war hero status gave her. Since she'd never done so for her personal gain or advantage, though, her reservoir of power didn't diminish but increase with use, the way magical feasts do in fairy tales.

She'd come a long way, Hermione thought, leaning against the frame of her office door and looking at her surroundings. Routinely a barely acknowledged backdrop, the habitual setting of her everyday life, they'd suddenly leaped into sharp-edged life.

The trick image had switched from white-on-black to black-on-white.

Not sure what exactly had brought about that unforeseen change, Hermione sat down at her desk, waiting for the elf on duty to make her coffee and orange juice appear next to the neatly arranged stacks of files.

It materialized seconds later. Instead of following the time-honed habit of perusing her schedule for the day while sipping the first of a long succession of coffees, Hermione leaned back in her chair and allowed her thoughts to wander.

What i_had/i_ triggered this unaccustomed feeling of being a warm, soft body amidst objects that somehow seemed more cold and inanimate today?

Usually she felt herself click into place when she entered her office. Today, this sense of taking her assigned spot in the order of things had been replaced by a sensation of strangeness, of otherness. As if she were more herself, whereas the rest had somehow solidified, serried its ranks to exclude her.

It wasn't bad, though, she mused. Just different and slightly disconcerting. But what had wrought the change? Was it something lasting or merely a fleeting phenomenon, to be shrugged off and forgotten?

A tap of her wand, and the cup refilled itself. Hermione took an absentminded sip and promptly scalded her tongue. The pain, negligible though it was (you tended to drastically redefine your view of pain after being subjected to the Cruciatus Curse), seemed to somewhat accelerate her thought processes. No, she decided, this eerie sensation wasn't something to be pushed to the back of her mind. It was worth lingering for a bit and digging deeper.

'Couldn't be midlife crisis, now could it?' she muttered to herself, smiling at the thought.

Crisis surely was too strong a word for the ennui that had snuck up upon her lately. And where had i_that_ /icome from, she wondered. Ennui? At her age, after a career as shiny as her well-kept house? At a point in her life when she'd reached everything she'd ever dreamed of and was free to… Do exactly what? Give up her job, pack a bag and set off to travel the world? Leave all her duties and obligations and go… Where?

What exactly was it you did once you'd achieved everything? You couldn't continue climbing once you'd reached the top, not if you'd decided to remain within the limits of the system. Unless you fancied founding a new cult or seriously flirted with the idea of becoming the new Dark Lord, either you went back down or you maintained the same level for ever and ever. A flat line. Like the one bisecting the monitor when your heart stopped beating and you were dead.

Hermione rubbed her forehead and blinked. This wasn't ennui. This looked suspiciously like the beginning of something akin to a major crisis.

Maybe lingering hadn't been such a good idea. She couldn't afford to slacken. Too many duties, too many expectations – not least her own – waiting to be fulfilled. There was no way she'd allow herself to even consider letting them down, whoever 'they' were. Her children, of course. The Minister, probably. Her staff. And Ron?

No, definitely not Ron. He didn't expect anything of her. He took her for granted. He… No, this definitely was an avenue of thought she ought to avoid at any cost. A dark alley, rather than an avenue, full of villainous thoughts and emotions ambushing her.

Hermione resolutely pulled herself together and fished a parchment from her in-tray.

o

Severus Snape, shadowy, semi-solid and more thoroughly displeased than he'd ever been before Nagini had ripped both his carotids with one single bite, Severus Snape was wandering the Forbidden Forest.

There were a few advantages to his current state, he had to concede. He wasn't feeling tired, although he'd been roaming the forest for many hours. Neither hunger nor thirst were a problem (although he could've killed for a decent pint of lager, but that wasn't thirst, it was something to do with being back on earth). He knew and felt that the air around him was cold, but he wasn't cold. On his way he'd already passed a somewhat astonished acromantula, but since he was already dead, there was no need for him to be afraid of even the fiercest and most dangerous creature.

These encouragingly pleasant side effects of having been brought back were heavily outweighed, however, by the fact that the act of bringing him back, though intentional, had not been intentionally directed at him, which meant that he was now on his own, half-solid and rather at a loss as to what to do next.

All this wouldn't have angered him so much, if his return to some kind of earthly existence had given him the ability to actually touch solid objects. As things were, his shadowy hands went right through them – or they through his hands, he really couldn't be arsed to work out what went through what – and the spells he cast with his equally shadowy wand were nothing but dim echoes of the powerful magic he'd wielded before his death.

He did, however, have to grudgingly acknowledge that she couldn't have chosen a better place for her ill-conceived attempt at necromancy. He was at Hogwarts, a place swarming with ghosts, House Elves and portraits. Much of the wizarding world's knowledge and wisdom lived in the castle. If he didn't find help here, he wasn't likely to find it anywhere else.

He spent a few more minutes hovering at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, cursing under his breath. When his repertoire of unflattering things to be said about women, who had the means but lacked the power to call the right person back from the dead, was finally exhausted, he briefly looked up at the sky, cursed at the threatening clouds, remembered that rain wasn't a problem, because the drops would just pass through him, and set off in the direction of the castle.

o

Letters from Hogwarts had become a thing of increasing rarity with the years.

Hermione still fondly remembered Rose's first year, when hardly a day had passed without Bogus, the owl they'd bought at Diagon Alley, delivering three feet of parchment covered in her daughter's tiny, neat handwriting.

Looking at the roll of parchment in her hand, Hermione smiled at the memories of Rose's early childhood.

Her daughter had been fascinated with the idea of writing things down ever since she was physically able to hold a quill in the correct fashion, and Hermione, shrugging off her mother-in-law's dire warnings, had taught her to read and write at the tender age of three. What would've been the point in withholding knowledge from a child that so obviously wanted it? Hermione had been proud of her daughter's precocious intelligence, yes, but never once had she forced Rose to surpass the limits of her natural curiosity.

Molly's gloomy predictions hadn't come true, needless to say. Rose had relished in her newfound skills - there'd been pieces and scraps of parchment everywhere in the house, spellotaped to walls, floors, beds and cupboards, naming the object they'd been affixed to in surprisingly tidy letters but rather arbitrary spelling. While Hugo was still confined to his playpen, unable to escape his sister's persecution, Hermione had to peel countless labels saying "BABIE" or "YOUGO" off her son. The spelling had improved, thank Merlin.

When Rose was four and showed a vivid interest in gruesome stories, her aunt Ginny had told her about her experience with Tom Riddle's diary. Ron, every inch as overprotective of his children as his mother had been (and still was), had been terribly upset with his sister. But, as Ginny pointed out to him, the only lasting effect the story seemed to have had on her niece was a renewed interest in writing. She'd started keeping a diary, which nobody was allowed to read. Only Hermione was occasionally treated to a rendition of select passages Rose read to her before going to bed.

When Hugo, who didn't share his sister's dedication to the written word, started his first year at Hogwarts, his main contribution to keeping his parents informed of the goings-on at school and his continued earthly existence was the odd "I'm OK, Love Hugo" scribbled in the margin of Rose's missives.

In the two years and three months he'd spent at Hogwarts, Hugo had never yet written a letter of his own.

Hence Hermione's surprise, when she unrolled the scroll and discovered her son's untidy handwriting.

The Christmas holidays were only four weeks away. Hugo, who was as fond of talking as his sister was of writing (sometimes Hermione wondered whether the boy didn't have gills, since he was able to go on non-stop for hours, seemingly without breathing), would surely have waited until he got home, to start telling her all that had happened since the beginning of the term as soon as he set foot on platform nine and three quarters.

So this had to be important.

When it came to news from Hogwarts, important and good were mutually exclusive.

Hermione went to the kitchen with Bogus perching on her shoulder, to search for an owl treat. When the bird had retired to its perch in Rose's bedroom, she sat down at the kitchen table and, with a sense of foreboding, cast a charm to flatten out the parchment.

She closed her eyes for a moment before actually starting to read.

Ron was on night shift; if the letter contained catastrophic news, she'd have to send her otter Patronus after him, since she couldn't be sure to reach him at the office. Not that there was such a large number of dark wizards around these days – thank Merlin for that! – but due to the lack of evil overlords and their assorted minions, the Aurors had become a kind of special emergency unit. They were always the first at the crime scene and thus quite busy.

Eyes still closed, Hermione pictured herself not panicking but regaining her calm by way of controlled breathing, casting her Patronus and telling Ron, in composed but urgent tones, that he had to come home immediately. She knew she could do it. She opened her eyes, took a deep breath and started reading.

o

After twenty-two years in limbo, a locale which had the annoying habit – although Severus had to admit that, in the beginning, he'd found it as intriguing as everybody else – of taking on the shape of whichever surroundings were best suited to your state of mind, the small room they'd chosen as the perfect place for him to hide felt almost like home. Its constant same-ness was most reassuring.

"They" were the four House Ghosts of Hogwarts.

He'd had an amicable enough relationship with the Bloody Baron since he first arrived at the school, a scrawny, aggressively insecure, arrogant, eleven-year old boy. Lucius, then in his fifth year, had seen to that. He'd done his best to protect the little runt while he was Prefect and, later on, Head Boy. But with an attitude like Severus's, even the members of his own house would have ganged up on him, had not the House Ghost been there to remind them that they'd regret harming the boy.

During the almost twenty years he'd taught the complex but sadly underestimated subject of Potions to students of mostly insufficient intellectual capacities, Severus had been on polite speaking terms with the ghosts of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Centuries spent at the school had taught them more than enough about students and their antics; they didn't bear him a grudge because of the quantity of house points he regularly took. They were above such petty rivalries and more interested in the protection of their flock than in another shiny but essentially useless House Cup on the common room's mantelpiece.

And during his final year at the school, when he'd had to play the role of Voldemort's puppet headmaster, they'd helped him keep his sanity.

Had it not been for his frequent conversations with the four spectres, he would probably have jumped out of some window long before the final battle, and without having previously placed a few useful spells on his cloak.

So it had felt quite natural for him to seek out the Bloody Baron that night, when he'd found himself little more than a shadow among the trees of the Forbidden Forest. The Ghost of Slytherin had readily offered his help, as had the Grey Lady, the Fat Friar and Nearly Headless Nick.

Time didn't exist in that strange dimension he'd gone to after his demise, and so the ghosts had first given him a brief overview of what had happened since the Battle of Hogwarts. It had been a weird feeling, the realization that twenty years had passed. It was a time span both too long and too short to be identified with the interval he'd spent in limbo. Sometimes he felt angry, because he'd missed out on such a large chunk of history. At other times, there was nothing but elation at having come back, even though in a state that could neither be described as "alive", nor could it by rights be termed "ghostly".

In a way, his current form of existence was the logical continuation of a life of ambiguity he'd led for so many years: his body bearing Voldemort's Dark Mark, his heart a battlefield, his mind bent on destroying the Dark Lord but clearly aware of the many shortcomings of the so-called Good Guys. Most of the time, he himself would have been hard-pressed to define himself. He therefore didn't feel as shaken by his strange half-life as the House Ghosts had obviously expected.

'I imagine,' the Fat Friar had said, the day after his return, once they'd found the ideal place for Severus to settle down, 'that walking in through the wall after leaving through the window must have given you some satisfaction.'

Severus had shrugged. 'Call it poetic justice, if you will. Whatever satisfaction it might have given me won't tide me over for long. After all, I'm stuck here.'

That prediction hadn't really held true. Yes, he was feeling frustrated from time to time. He didn't have the slightest intention to remain what and where he was for any longer than necessary. Then again, staying here at the school, in this disused room on the third floor near the chamber with the trapdoor, where he'd been bitten by a Cerberus so many years ago, proved to be surprisingly pleasant.

The ghosts were discreet; they never intruded upon his privacy when he wished to be on his own. And they were trying their best to help him. More active than he'd ever seen them, they talked to portraits and other ghosts, always in search of any scrap of information that might be of use to him.

Unfortunately, they hadn't found anything so far, and their resources seemed to be more or less exhausted after the scant month Severus had spent at Hogwarts.

'Hm.' The Bloody Baron, floating on a settee next to the Grey Lady, absentmindedly fingered he blood stain on his left sleeve. 'Pity, really, that the Room of Requirement was destroyed.'

This statement merely coaxed an impatient grunt from Severus. They'd bemoaned the loss of that particular location already. Repeatedly.

'You really ought to talk to Dumbledore's portrait,' Nearly Headless Nick said bracingly. 'You've been here for four weeks already, and none of our kind knows a way to help you. Neither do the portraits. I'm sure Dumbledore would-'

'I'll be damned if I so much as piss on his portrait!' Severus hissed.

The Grey Lady wrinkled her nose at such foul language, and he managed an apologetic nod.

The Bloody Baron frowned. 'As I see it, you don't have a choice, Snape. If I may be so bold as to give you some advice, you'd better swallow your pride, just this once, and talk to the old man.'

Severus glared. 'I'll think about it,' he finally huffed.

o

After perusing the first lines of Hugo's letter, Hermione let out the breath she'd been holding. Her knees still weak, she got up from the hard wooden chair and went to the living room to pour herself a glass of wine.

Her all-too-vivid imagination had tricked her into believing the worst – if Hugo went to the trouble of writing a long letter, surely his sister had to be unable to do so – and even though the news had turned out to be quite harmless, the shock had been genuine. She definitely deserved a fortifying drink.

With a last shiver that owed more to relief than any lingering traces of anxiety, Hermione sank into one of the comfy armchairs near the fireplace, took a sip of wine and started reading in earnest.

It seemed that something – and Hugo was absolutely determined to find out what exactly it was – had been upsetting the Hogwarts ghosts for about a month.

According to her son's rather vivid description, the castle was literally teeming with spectres. Normally, only the House Ghosts made regular appearances, mostly during meals in the Great Hall, and of course Peeves still roamed the castle in search of victims to play his pranks on. Since early November though, Hugo, who didn't care much for the rules confining students to certain areas and certain times, had noticed a considerable increase in ghost activity. According to his account, they came out at night time, to float tirelessly through corridors, classrooms and dormitories, whispering to portraits and paintings and radiating a strong sense of frustration. To Hugo, it seemed that they all were engaged in some kind of search or quest, which, to judge by their aura of aggravation, wasn't going too well. Since it was confined to a time when everybody else was sleeping (or supposed to be), he was pretty sure it was a secret quest.

Her chin propped on her interlaced hands, Hermione pondered the news.

Leaving aside her son's rather nonchalant attitude towards school rules, the boy was an astute observer. He'd wanted to join Law Enforcement since he was five years old. Like his sister's diary obsession, this wish had been brought about by a story.

Ron and Hermione had had a major fight (like most of their fights, Molly had been the one to cause it by some tactless remark about Hermione's skills as a wife and mother, and, as in most of their fights, Ron had failed to take Hermione's side) and were talking to each other merely for the children's sake, with excessive politeness that barely veiled the underlying resentment. Harry had Apparated over to play peacemaker, and Hugo had overheard his father and uncle talking about a fight his parents had evidently had during their third year at Hogwarts.

He'd asked Hermione about it a few weeks later, when peace had been restored, and she'd told him the abridged version of Crookshanks – may he rest in peace – being accused of murdering Scabbers the Rat in cold blood. Hugo who, in spite of his talkativeness, was a surprisingly sensitive listener, had been so exasperated at the sheer injustice of it all that he'd gone to his father straight away and berated him for pronouncing a verdict without having investigated properly.

Evidently Ron hadn't been able to justify his appalling behaviour – these had been Hugo's exact words – and so his son set out to right things. For two interminable weeks, he ceaselessly tormented the whole family with questions, noticing the slightest contradiction, picking their brains with the accuracy of a vivisectionist, until he could finally present his mother with a complete (if barely legible) dossier of The Case, including diagrams, illustrations and a fervent speech in defence of the innocent half-Kneazle.

His methods of inquiry had become notably more subtle over the years, but in spite of his refined technique he had hitherto been unable to discover what was troubling the ghosts. Hence his letter to Hermione, which contained a meticulous summary of events and a final plea to his mother, supreme law enforcer and hence detective extraordinaire, to help him with professional advice.

Hermione poured herself another glass of wine and returned to her study. Work was important, but not as important as her son's budding career as an investigator. She was sure that no harm would come to him, if he wandered around the castle looking for clues. Maybe he'd get detention, but Hugo getting detention was like a plant being watered. He thrived on detentions. And it i_was_ /ian intriguing story.

She chose a sheet of parchment and a new quill, and began to write down detailed instructions with a smile on her face.

o


	3. Chapter 1 Part 2

It had taken a few more of the Bloody Baron's stern admonitions for Severus to finally give in and agree that talking to Dumbl

It had taken a few more of the Bloody Baron's stern admonitions for Severus to finally give in and agree that talking to Dumbledore might indeed be the only possibility left to him.

The former Headmaster's portrait still occupied its place of honour right behind the huge desk in Headmistress McGonagall's office. Severus had glimpsed his former colleague a few times since he'd come to Hogwarts, and whenever he set eyes on her, he couldn't quite suppress the anger gnawing at him. Too clear were his memories of his last night at the school and of the ignominious way he'd left.

He would have liked to talk to her. They had never been friends – at first, Minerva hadn't trusted him further than she could throw him (her own words), and later on, when something like an amicable relationship would have been possible, Voldemort had decided to graft himself onto Quirrel's head, and then Lucius had pulled that incredibly stupid stunt with Riddle's diary… The rest was, well, history. "May you live in interesting times" was indeed a curse.

Although he now knew that more than twenty years had gone by since the fateful night of the Battle of Hogwarts, he hadn't felt the passing of time and was still surprised to see its marks on those he'd known during is lifetime. McGonagall had aged, as had the few members of staff he was still familiar with. Severus, on the other hand, still looked exactly as he had twenty years ago, which meant that he didn't look his best. Not a handsome man at the best of times, he'd been a wreck, both nervous and physical, when he died. He could only hope that, if he somehow managed to restore himself to complete life and solidity, he'd be able to improve his appearance.

For now, he had to live – or whatever he was currently doing – with a body so thin it bordered on emaciated, hollowed cheeks, dark circles under his eyes and hair so greasy, lanky and scraggly that it was bad even by his usual standards. The fact that half of it was clumped together by congealed blood didn't make it more appealing.

Severus hated having to face his former boss in this state of neglect, but in the end had to acknowledge that any information Dumbledore might be able to give him would be worth he bitter aftertaste of swallowing his pride.

In spite of her age – she was now in her late nineties – McGonagall still worked long hours. Since Severus was careful not to be seen by anybody but the ghosts, the time window for his visit was quite narrow, for the House Elves started to go about their daily business as early as three a.m. Besides, he and his ghostly helpers had to take into consideration the fact that the Headmistress quite often fell asleep at her desk.

Nearly Headless Nick had volunteered for the task of reconnoitring, but it wasn't until the middle of December that he finally rushed through the wall of Severus's temporary accommodation, announcing that the coast was clear. Being only semi-solid, Severus had the advantage of being able to take shortcuts through walls nobody but the ghosts could use. This was maybe the only perk of his not-quite-defined existence he was going to miss, he mused while oozing through six feet of solid stone.

The portraits of headmasters and –mistresses past were empty; only Dumbledore was quietly snoring in his own painting. How the Gryffindor House Ghost had accomplished this feat was a mystery to Severus. He decided to make the most of the time he had at his disposal, though, and merely made a mental note to ask Nearly Headless Nick later how exactly he had managed to temporarily exile Dumbledore's predecessors from their frames.

He didn't speak up right away, however, for it took him a couple of minutes to compose himself; the rush of emotions he felt while contemplating the portrait of the man who'd dominated so many years of his life was as surprising as it was disconcerting.

Anger, admiration, affection – and those were only the ones beginning with A. In the end he succeeded in steadying himself and walked around McGonagall's cluttered but tidy desk, until his face was no more than two feet away from the former headmaster's.

'Albus,' he said, but all the reaction he got was a spidery twitch of the old wizard's fingers and a slightly louder snore.

Dumbledore's right hand was bony and covered in liver spots, but unblemished. As he'd done many times during the year he'd occupied this office, Severus briefly wondered whether the old man had wanted it this way, or if artistic license and a certain squeamishness had caused the artist to forego realism for the sake of misunderstood aesthetics. But this, just like the mysterious emptiness of the other portraits, was another question for another time. Right now, he had more important matters to deal with.

'Albus!' he repeated, louder this time and infusing his voice with as much authority as he could muster in his present state.

Dumbledore opened his eyes. 'Severus?' He fished for his gold-rimmed glasses and put them on hastily; they sat slightly askew on his long, crooked nose. 'I wasn't aware…' He interrupted himself in mid-sentence and paused to have a closer look at his former Potions Master. 'You're not a ghost,' he finally stated, forehead crinkling.

'As always, I am deeply grateful to you for stating the obvious,' was the snide answer. 'No, I'm not a ghost. Don't ask me what I am,' he said, raising his right hand, palm towards Dumbledore, who looked ready to pour forth more questions than Severus cared for, 'because I have no idea.'

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Dumbledore nodded slowly. 'That leaves but one explanation. Somebody found the ring.'

'Evidently.'

Severus had of course recognized the ring. It was the very same that he'd seen in Dumbledore's study, while he'd tried every trick in the book to save the old man's life. But this was not the time to discuss a ring, which had evidently been much more than just a Horcrux. Another interesting conundrum to be filed away for later examination.

He inhaled and exhaled slowly a few times, to mask his impatience – he'd been sure that Dumbledore was going to be far more interested in that bloody ring than helping him, but having predicted the old wizard's reaction correctly didn't make it any more pleasant.

'That's not why I've come here, though,' he finally said. 'I need-'

'But can't you see that this is of the utmost importance?' Blue eyes blazing, Dumbledore leaned forward in his armchair. 'Nobody knew where it was, except for Harry and his friends, so one of them must-'

'Albus.' He was unable to keep the exasperation out of his voice. 'No matter who brought me back, I'm back only in a manner of speaking. I'm back only insofar as I'm not there anymore, but believe me, as existences go, this' – he waved a hand down his shadowy body – 'is less than satisfactory.'

'I'm sure it is, dear boy, I'm sure it is. Nevertheless, I need to know who did this.'

By now, anger had no difficulty gaining the upper hand over all the other emotions Severus had been able to repress only temporarily.

'You're dead, Albus, in case you hadn't noticed. Dead means you can't continue playing your little power games, not with the living, and not in any way that matters to anybody but yourself and maybe a few other painted people. And just to spare you the trouble of asking: no, I'm not going to tell you who brought me back and why. It's none of your business anyway.'

The bushy eyebrows rose. They looked like two albino caterpillars attempting to climb a steep purple slope. 'Enlighten me, Severus, pray do. If I'm merely a painting, and this isn't my business, why did you come here and seek me out? It wasn't meant to be a belated Halloween prank, now was it?'

'I thought,' Severus replied through clenched teeth, 'that you might be able to set aside, just for a little while, your concerns about the world at large and offer your help to me. To me, as an individual, as a person who turns to you in their hour of need. Not because I'm part of a grander scheme, not because by aiding me you might gain a few points on your adversary, and neither because I'd be in your debt so you can use me at a convenient time.'

At least the old man had the good grace to look somewhat abashed, though not much and not for long. It was an act anyway, as it had always been.

'Help?' Dumbledore muttered finally. 'How could I possibly help you?'

'You spent most of your youth wading knee-deep in alchemical texts,' Severus shot back. 'I suppose I don't need to remind you that it's not really about turning lead into gold. It's about the mystery of life and death. I didn't study much alchemy-'

'No,' Dumbledore interrupted him glibly, 'You were… er, otherwise occupied.'

'Indeed I was.' The old man would have to come up with more subtle insults, if he wanted to hurt him. 'You, on the other hand, have read many, many texts I've never laid my hands on.'

'And why' – Dumbledore stared at him over the rim of his spectacles – 'why would I share such knowledge with you?'

'Because you owe me, maybe?'

'Owe you? What and why exactly do I owe you, Severus?'

The mask had come off. Gone was the benign twinkle, the pretence of paternal joviality. Severus hadn't seen Albus Dumbledore sans slightly dotty mannerisms very often in his life, but the few times he'd had the dubious pleasure of witnessing the real Albus Dumbledore had been enough for him to seriously consider whether serving Voldemort wouldn't have been the lesser evil.

There was a long list of debts Severus could have recited; a list that had grown with every year his erstwhile employer had used him. Blackmailed him, to put it bluntly, into interminable acts of penitence for one single youthful error.

But, as Severus knew only too well, none of that would matter to Dumbledore, because it had all been for the sake of the Greater Good. They were both aware, of course, that, like so many others, the most prominent among them Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore had used Severus merely as a disposable rag to polish the shine of his own greatness. With each of his puppets, he'd pretended they had a secret, exclusive relationship. He'd used his own charisma and their vanity, or vulnerability, to create the Fata Morgana of snug confidentiality everybody craved but could never quite reach, because they were never quite good enough…

No, this wasn't the kind of weight Severus could use to crush Dumbledore's resistance. If he meant to gain leverage on the old man, he had to do so by appealing to his vanity, to the arrogance and self-righteousness he'd always so well disguised under the pretence of modesty and the willingness to sacrifice himself to a cause greater than himself.

'You owe me,' Severus said slowly, 'the dignity of your death. The Elder Wand had been conquered, your plan put into action. You owe me, because there was a body to be buried and mourned, instead of a hundred pounds of bloody pulp. Or,' he added with a smirk, 'a dangerous werewolf for Scrimgeour's minions to hunt.'

There was absolute silence in the circular room, as both wizards held their breath.

'There is a variation of the Draught of Sleeping Death,' Dumbledore finally said, 'invented by Avicenna. He claimed it had the power to restore the walking un-dead, as he called them, to life. The recipe can be found in his treaty on death. Thanatos is the Greek title – very rare manuscript, I got it from-'

'Never mind,' Severus interrupted him sharply. 'Where can I find that text?'

'Minerva told me that my books – those the clever Miss Granger hadn't appropriated anyway – were put into the Restricted Section.'

'Very well,' Severus said. 'Consider your debt repaid. And' – he smirked at his erstwhile employer – 'if you value your sanity, don't tell anybody. You remember the painting of Prometheus in the fifth-floor corridor? It seems that Prometheus is quite anxious for somebody else to take his place. And I might just have devised a way to help him…'

He turned and walk-floated towards the door. You couldn't make a proper exit by just drifting through a wall.

'Wait!' Dumbledore called after him. 'Who brought you back? I need to-'

'It'll give you something to think about for the next couple of centuries,' Severus said without looking back. 'You always liked a good mystery, didn't you?'

o

With a weary sigh, Hermione Weasley shed her heavy cloak, shook it out and hung it on the rack behind her office door. Black really wasn't her colour, she thought with a wry grin. But while at work, she had to wear her official MLE uniform, whether black suited her or not.

During her first years as a Magical Law Enforcer, she'd hoped that the insignia of the higher ranks she was confident to gain sooner rather than later would somewhat alleviate the unflattering severity of her uniform. That, however, had turned out to be an illusion. The dark red tabs with their silver stripes on the high collar of both cloak and robes merely accentuated the whiteness of her skin and made her look pale and greenish, especially in winter.

She went into the bathroom to put a bit of Sleekeazy on her wind-ruffled hair and wash her hands. The day was chilly and blustery, and the brief walk from lunch back to the Ministry had reddened her cheeks and made a total mess of her hair.

Her fingers were numb; she held them under the hot water for as long as she could bear. While massaging a dollop of cream into her hands, she thought about the conversation she'd had during her lunch with Percy.

So Kingsley had decided to retire after more than twenty years. He was tired, Percy said – not that she would have needed her brother-in-law to point that out to her. It was plainly visible in the stoop of the still powerful shoulders and the lines making the Minister's face look older than he was.

Kingsley Shacklebolt had been an excellent Minister for Magic. He'd handled the aftermath of the Voldemort years with admirable dexterity and, once the debris had been swept up, he'd first stabilized and then cautiously begun to reform the whole system. It wasn't going to be easy for his successor to step into his shoes, but if Percy's information turned out to be correct…

It seemed that, some weeks ago already, Shacklebolt had started discreetly to sound out select members of the Wizengamot as to their opinion on the wizard he wanted them to appoint as his successor in a few months' time. Not that there was much doubt about their enthusiastic assent to his idea, but, as Percy had pointed out, in matters as important as this, it was better to be safe than sorry.

Hermione herself wasn't quite sure what she thought of the idea of Harry becoming the next Minister for Magic. Conscious of the weight her word carried with even the most senior members of the Wizengamot, she knew, however, that she mustn't talk lightly of the matter. Not before she'd pondered it carefully.

Besides, her own, personal feelings had no relevance whatsoever. They had to be disregarded for the sake of the professionalism she prided herself on.

A small cabinet next to the mirror held a make-up kit, a few medicinal potions, hairbrushes and other paraphernalia she kept there to freshen up between appointments. Since both her children were now students at Hogwarts, she'd also taken to readying herself for her evening obligations at the office more often. A quiet cup of tea at her desk, followed by a leisurely fifteen-minute stint to the bathroom, was preferable to Apparating home and getting changed in a hurry.

This afternoon was blessedly free of scheduled duties, though. So she merely dabbed a bit of gloss on her lips, which felt rough and dry from the cold outside, and returned to her office.

Harry was sitting in the armchair he always occupied when he came to visit her at her office. He, too, was wearing his uniform; being an Auror, he was decked out in dark burgundy with rank insignia of gold. Harry in uniform always brought a smile to Hermione's lips. Immaculately clean, pressed and crease-free though it was, her friend of old managed to make it look untidy. Whether this was due to his eternally messy hair, or whether it was his disregard for rules creating this air of general disorder, she wasn't quite sure.

'Hi,' she said.

Harry gave her a lopsided grin. 'Hi. Sorry to intrude.'

'No problem. No appointments this afternoon, intrude all you want.'

The grin became broader. 'That sounds lovely.' In a characteristic gesture, he pushed up his glasses, which had slid down almost to the tip of his nose. 'Tea would be even lovelier.'

She was about to call for House Elf Service (free, paid and uniformed these days) but, knowing Harry, remembered to ask whether he'd already eaten.

'You ask the most embarrassing questions,' he said. Passing a hand through his already tousled hair, he made it stand up even more. 'To be honest, I don't think I've eaten anything since last night.'

Hermione shook her head in exasperation. 'Ginny would kill you if she knew.'

'Yeah, probably. But she doesn't know, does she? I think I'll have to get her pregnant again – since Lily's left for Hogwarts, she's got only me to feed and mother.'

'You adore being fed and mothered, admit it.'

'It's wonderful. Just a bit much, from time to time.'

Time and experience had told Hermione that certain discussions were best not started, and so she merely called the House Elf to order tea and sandwiches.

Ten years ago, she would've pointed out to Harry that his wife ought to get a job, or take up a hobby, or do whatever was necessary to make her realize that not everybody was willing to limit their conversation to the topic of the perfect children she'd borne her magnificent, perfect husband. Bringing it up again would have been useless, though. In the end, it might lead to the same conflicts that had for some time considerably chilled the atmosphere between the two young couples. Despite the occasional outburst of exasperation, Harry both treasured and needed his wife's pampering. And Ginny needed somebody to mollycoddle, even though, every now and then, she complained about having to give up her whole life to her (perfect) family. By now, Hermione knew better than to take any of this whingeing seriously or, worse, let it tempt her to interfere.

Once the small coffee table was almost completely covered in dishes, napkins and at least a dozen kinds of sandwiches, pastries and other assorted goodies, the elf bowed and vanished. Its satisfied smile seemed to linger after it was already gone.

'So,' Harry said between ravenous bites, 'have you heard?'

In spite of knowing full well what he was alluding to, Hermione decided to tease him a bit. He'd get more than his due share of unbridled admiration from his wife and the Weasley clan; it wouldn't do to spoil him too much.

'Have I heard what?' Hermione asked, pretending to be thoroughly engrossed in the analysis of her watercress sandwich.

'About Kingsley, of course.' He reached for another cracker topped with tuna mayonnaise, then thought better of it and grabbed the whole platter. 'What else?' he added, turning in his chair so that he was now sitting with his long legs dangling over the armrest, the plate balanced on his knees.

'What exactly about Kingsley?' It came out a tad more impatient than she'd intended. But she was feeling unaccountably annoyed – not at Harry, or not exclusively at him, anyway. It was just that, sometimes, she didn't have much tolerance for his Harry-centric worldview which led him to believe that everybody was thinking along the same lines as he was.

Now it was Harry's turn to sound irritated. 'Don't play dumb – the rumour that he's about to go into retirement, of course.'

Of course. Hermione bit her tongue, sure that Harry's visit owed nothing to his excitement about Shacklebolt's plans for retirement and everything to his choice of successor. She didn't want to be forced into giving her opinion just yet; she wanted to think about the matter carefully before uttering a judgment.

'I seem to recall hearing something like that, yes. But' – she poured herself a second cup of tea and added a splash of milk – 'as you say, it's nothing but a rumour.'

'Oh, no.' His glasses, which had slipped again when he shook his head, were pushed back up resolutely. 'It's true. I've known for some time. Good thing, too. He's getting old.'

'Old? You must be kidding! He's in his late eighties!'

'And he's been doing the job for over twenty years. It's time he handed it over to somebody younger.'

'Being younger doesn't mean he, or she as the case may be, will necessarily be a better minister.'

'Not necessarily, no. Although…' After making quick work of the tuna crackers, Harry put the empty platter back on the table. Green eyes twinkling in an uncannily Dumbledorian fashion, he cocked his head and looked at her. 'In this particular case…'

Unable to keep him waiting any longer for a reaction he'd clearly been anticipating since he'd broached the topic, Hermione said, 'So it's going to be you, isn't it?'

'If the Wizengamot sees eye to eye with Kingsley, yes, it's going to be me.'

'So?'

'So what? Am I happy? Yes, I am.'

'You don't look any happier than usual, though.'

'I expected my happiness to redouble, by sharing it with you. Miscalculation on my part, or so it seems.'

'Oh, Harry…' Torn between the urge to hug him and the impulse to box his ears, Hermione limited herself to a helpless shrug. 'It's… Oh, I don't know what it is.'

Harry's tone was cool and a little distant when he said, after a short, awkward pause, 'It's what I've always wanted.'

'That's not true. Or rather,' she corrected herself, seeing his angry blush, 'it's not what you always said you wanted. I remember you and Ron going on and on about wanting to be Aurors. Minister for Magic wasn't anywhere on your wish list, as far as I remember.'

'N-not as such,' he admitted grudgingly.

'I see,' was Hermione's deadpan comment.

They looked at each other and burst out laughing.

'I've always wanted to have the power to change the wizarding world,' Harry said, his face again serious. 'Which ultimately means being Minister, doesn't it?'

'You could always go for Evil Overlord. At least you wouldn't have to put up with those horrendous robes – only Kingsley can get away with wearing that shade of red.'

'They're only for formal occasions. Besides, I think that's going to be my first big change, decreeing that' – he switched to a somewhat solemn tone, which was at odds with the laughter dancing in his eyes – 'henceforth every Minister shall have the freedom to choose the colour he likes best for his formal robes.'

'Ah,' Hermione said smiling, 'now you've convinced me that you're really, really serious about it.'

The teapot was empty, and she called for the House Elf to refill it.

'But,' she said pensively, when they were again alone, 'that'll be the end of your life as you know it. Doesn't that frighten you?'

Harry briefly closed his eyes. 'Yes. I know it is. And yes, it does. Almost enough to say no.'

'Then why don't you?' Hermione put down her teacup and leaned forward, hands clasped. 'Harry,' she said softly, urgently, 'You're under no obligation whatsoever. This time round, there is no prophecy, no Voldemort, no Dumbledore. You can just tell them you don't want the job, at least not for the time being. Tell them you don't feel you're mature enough, that ought to soften the blow. You're only forty-one, Harry, you can become Minister in fifty years' time, or not at all. It's your decision, yours and nobody else's!'

But it didn't seem to Hermione that her words had made an impression. Maybe he hadn't even heard them; he suddenly seemed far away.

'That's not entirely true, and you know it,' he finally said. So he i_had_ /iheard. 'I'm not getting any younger-'

'Oh, come on, Harry! Honestly! You've barely entered your prime!'

'I know. I don't mind getting older, that's not the problem.' He took off his glasses and fiddled with them. 'That's not the problem at all. It's the wand.'

For a moment, Hermione was embarrassed – the last thing she needed was her friend confessing to her that he had problems getting it up. As it turned out, though, he wasn't talking in polite euphemisms.

'It's been twenty years,' Harry said. 'People still remember. I'm the unconquerable hero, will be for the next twenty years, maybe, if I'm lucky. But you know how it goes, Hermione. You of all people can understand me, I'm sure. You're always so very rational, so matter-of-fact – not that I always like it,' he added with a grin. 'But I always appreciate it. You don't flatter me, you don't admire me the way most people do. To you, I'm just Harry.'

Overcome by a wave of affection, Hermione bit her lip and patted his hand. 'Not i_just/i_ Harry. You're Harry, and that's all you need to be.'

He squeezed her fingers. 'I know. That's why I wanted to talk to you. If i_you_ /iunderstand and approve, I can be sure I made the right choice.'

Darkness had encroached on the room during their talk, and Hermione lit the candles in their wall sconces with a flick of her wand. 'So tell me,' she said.

'It's quite simple, really. As I said, I'm not getting any younger, and collective memory isn't getting any better. If I remain an Auror for much longer, there's bound to be people who don't remember the Voldemort years. To people who haven't lived the experience first hand, he'll just be another Dark Wizard with weird ideas about power and pureblood supremacy. He'll… diminish. And my reputation as the invincible saviour of the wizarding world will diminish with him. Sooner or later, somebody's bound to stumble across the legend of the Deathly Hallows. What if they really try and fight me? What if I lose?'

'You're right about collective memory. But I'm sure you don't believe that being Minister for Magic will make you invulnerable. Look at the Muggle world – think of Kennedy, of Saadat, of Rabin… Think of Scrimgeour, if you need a recent example from our world. Leaders can be assassinated, Harry. It happens all the time. I honestly don't quite see why you'd have to become Minister for Magic merely because of that stupid Elder Wand. If anything, the position might make you more of a target.'

'More of a target than being a simple Auror?'

'Well, no. The risk would be different, but not significantly greater or smaller.'

Harry shrugged. 'Of all the prime ministers and presidents of the Muggle world, and of all the policemen – which of the two groups do you think faces the higher probability of being killed on the job?'

'You're asking the wrong question, Harry. Of course policemen are more likely to be killed, because getting into fights is part of their job description, which is very unlike a political leader's job description. You've got your premises wrong.'

'Right, so I'll put my question differently: If you had reason to fear being killed or even disarmed – to be afraid of it not for your own sake, but for that of your whole people – and you had the choice between becoming prime minister or joining the police, which of the two would you pick?'

'Oh, Harry.' Hermione hid her face in her hands. When she raised her head again, her eyes were wet and red-rimmed. 'Why does it always have to be like this? Why can't you have a little peace? Why do you always have to think of everybody else, instead of thinking just of yourself and your family?'

Alarmed, Harry got up and walked around the table, to perch on the armrest of her chair. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he kissed the top of her head. 'Now don't dramatize things, darling. I merely wanted you to understand my motives. It's not as if I had to spend the rest of my life in Azkaban, in order to save my fellow wizards. Hey!' he said, pulling at a springy lock of hair, 'I'm going to be minister! What do you think, would emerald green robes suit me?'

'You can't choose any of the Hogwarts House Colours,' she said, dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief he'd offered her. 'People would take it as a political statement.'

'Right as always.' Harry grinned at her. 'No yellow then. Pity. Yellow would've done wonders for my complexion.'

Hermione snorted. 'Pity indeed. What about a dignified black?'

'Can't seem to be favouring law enforcement, my dear.'

'Ah. Of course. Well, that leaves you with such lovely colours as orange, fuchsia or lilac…'

A shadow crossed Harry's face. 'Which reminds me of old Rita. I hope she won't…'

He didn't finish the sentence, but stared moodily out of the window and into the now-complete darkness.

It had started to snow, and big, wet snowflakes were drifting past the window, briefly blinking into golden life before they fell back into the dark.

'I don't think hope's going to accomplish much.' Hermione rose from her chair and patted his shoulder. 'I'll arrange for her to be unobtrusively observed, so at least we'll know what she's up to. Any dark secrets I should be aware of?'

'Not really, no. Do you think she still-'

'Harry!' Hermione interrupted him. 'That woman can give an old elephant bull a run for his money, when it comes to holding grudges. Of course she still wants to get back at you! Rita lost a fortune, when nobody wanted to sell her books anymore, because of your somewhat public statement – and apart from the money, you totally destroyed her reputation.'

'There wasn't much for me to destroy.'

'I agree, but we both know she didn't see it that way. As I said, I'll have her watched. Not that I can prevent anything, but maybe we'll be able to anticipate her moves, if we know who she's talking to.'

Harry too got up and went to retrieve his cloak. 'I'm going to miss this,' he said with a sigh, caressing the cloth. 'Anyway, thanks for the talk, Hermione. You're awesome.'

They exchanged a brief hug.

Already out of the room, Harry stuck his head through the door. 'Do you, erm…' He pushed up his glasses. 'I think preparing Ron might be a good idea, huh?'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'With friends like you! All right, if he hasn't already got wind of it through the grapevine, I'll do my best to break the news to him gently. And now shove off, I've got work to do.'

She smiled after him, when he blew her a kiss and closed the door.

The smile was gone as soon as she couldn't hear the echo of his footsteps anymore. Prepare Ron – that was more easily said than done.

o


	4. Chapter 1 Part 3

Pre-Christmas spirits were running high at Hogwarts

Pre-Christmas spirits were running high at Hogwarts. The House Ghosts, more aware than the teachers of those students who could be relied on to cause trouble, were therefore busy monitoring their charges.

So it was just Severus and the Bloody Baron sitting next to the fireplace – none of them could feel the warmth, but it was a comforting imitation of life – carefully deliberating the next steps of their plan. The Slytherin students had promised to keep their peace; they knew that giving their word to their House ghost meant keeping it. None of them would have liked to face the consequences of breaking it.

'We'll have to choose a trustworthy House Elf,' the Baron said slowly. 'That Winky creature is stupid – I didn't have any trouble coming up with a pretext for needing the Avicenna. But as for getting the ingredients…' Brow furrowing, he scrutinized Severus's face. 'You are sure this is going to work, aren't you?'

'As sure as can be,' Severus replied, for what seemed to him the thousandth time.

'Very well then. We shall be in need of ingredients, which it is not in our power to buy. Not to mention somebody to brew the Draught.'

Severus nodded. 'We'll have to steal the ingredients, for sure. Or rather, have somebody steal them for us and then prepare the potion.'

'And that somebody can only be a House Elf. Not much intelligence to speak of, the ability to come and go at will – our will – and absolute obedience.'

'Yes,' Severus said pensively. 'Yes, it seems that this is, indeed, the only way.' He massaged his forehead with his fingertips – a gesture almost as old as himself, remnant of migraines that had accompanied him from childhood into adult life. He wondered whether they'd be back once he returned to a fully human existence. 'The question is: Which elf do we choose?'

'Kreacher,' said the Baron, who seemed to have already given the problem much thought. 'At first, I thought we might keep employing Winky, but-'

'Wait a moment!' Severus held up his hand to forestall the uncharacteristic flow of words. The Slytherin House Ghost was normally a spectre of few, well-chosen words. 'Why Kreacher? He's fiercely loyal to the House of Black!'

'Exactly.' The Baron's thin lips curled into a smile. 'So we will have to go along with the original idea. Didn't you mention that the person who brought you back had meant to summon Sirius Black?'

'That's true, but… That elf hates Sirius Black.'

'Whether he hates Black or not is irrelevant. He'll have to follow his orders, that's what is important.'

'Yes, I know!' Although Severus liked and respected the Bloody Baron, he was beginning to feel very impatient. 'But I can't alter my appearance in the state I'm in. Kreacher wouldn't-'

'Kreacher won't be allowed to see you. Stop rolling your eyes and listen! It is true that Kreacher hated Sirius Black, the only Gryffindor in a family of Slytherins. But House Elves don't have any opinions of their own, they believe what their masters believe. For Kreacher, being a Black equals being a pureblood equals being a Slytherin, never mind the one freak of nature. If the House Ghost of Slytherin issues orders on behalf of the last of the Blacks, he won't dare question those orders.'

Severus shook his head. 'This is the most foolhardy, harebrained scheme ever hatched by a Slytherin.'

'Maybe. But it doesn't lack a certain elegance. Twisting whatever people take for granted to fit your own purposes is as sophisticated a strategy as a dyed-in-the-wool Slytherin could ever wish for.'

'That,' Severus said slowly, 'is certainly true.'

o

'I still don't understand why Harry won't even think of rejecting that offer,' Ron said, vigorously buttering a piece of toast. 'Everything's going to change! I'm sure he won't like it any more than we do.'

Hermione, who never ate breakfast and had lingered at the table only for her husband's sake, counted to ten before speaking. Her tone of voice, she realized, wasn't much calmer than it would've been without counting. 'I know, Ron. I know. But I believe I explained his reasons for accepting.'

'Just because you explain something doesn't mean it's less unpleasant.' He bit a large chunk off his toast and topped the rest with three spoons full of strawberry jam. 'At least' – he sank his teeth into this delightful composition, smearing red jam all over his upper lip and onto the tip of his nose – 'not for the likes of me.'

Washing down her mounting irritation with a sip of coffee, Hermione asked, 'What exactly is that supposed to mean? For the likes of you? And wipe that jam off your face, for heaven's sake!'

Ron obediently raised his arm, met Hermione's stare when his sleeve was almost at mouth level, and made a last-minute grab for the napkin. He wiped his lips and swiped the napkin across his nose, when Hermione, wordlessly but with an exasperated glare, pointed at her own nose.

'It means,' he replied, grabbing another slice of toast, 'that, while you're able to rationalize your way out of whatever angers, hurts or depresses you, lesser mortals such as myself can't put our emotions aside that easily.'

Always the same, hurtful insult, always thrown into her face when he felt outmatched. The fact that it came in different wrappings didn't do much to soften the blow. The soul evidently wasn't as apt as the body at developing calluses in places regularly exposed to pressure. She tried to swallow this mouthful of anger, too, with another gulp of coffee, but all she got was a sour taste rising up from her stomach and trying to climb all the way back into her mouth.

'I don't rationalize away my feelings, Ron. But it's better to examine them carefully, instead of allowingi _them_ /ito master i_you_/i. If you claim to be an adult, it ought to be the other way round, you know?'

One brief glance at Ron's expression reminded her that she'd done it again.

She'd read the books her mother had given her after witnessing one of their increasingly frequent small-scale fights. They contained useful hints as to how one ought to go about differences of opinion with one's partner: never present your own view of things as if it were a universal truth. If you see things differently, say so, but make clear that it's you. If two people fight, it's about the two of them, and nobody else. Making your partner face you and the rest of humanity, instead of only you, will merely make him feel that he's alone against the rest of the world, with his back to the wall. Thus, primitive defence mechanisms are being triggered, and your partner will lash out at you, trying to weaken you in turn.

The books were right. He did lash out in an attempt to wound her. Almost twenty years of marriage had taught him where exactly to aim.

'I'd rather be a childish idiot than a clever icicle,' Ron shot back. He didn't even look at her, busy as he was spreading butter and honey on another piece of toast.

It was too late– both in terms of her work schedule and of the stage their dialogue had reached by now – to try whichever strategy her mother's books proposed for saving the situation. Hermione took the low blow without so much as a flinch, drained her cup and rose from the table.

'Have a nice day, Ron.' He had his mouth full of toast, so she quickly added, 'Being a childish idiot, I'm sure you won't have trouble enjoying whatever comes your way.'

Not the wittiest of parting shots, she thought while pulling the door shut behind her with a satisfying bang, but her ability to be clever that way decreased whenever her stress levels rose.

She was turning into a full-blown harridan. Just like Molly Weasley.

If she continued like this, sooner or later Ron was going to feel he was married to his own mother. The fulfilment of any oedipal fantasy he might ever have harboured, except for the cooking and general fussing about him.

o

Much to Severus's surprise, the Bloody Baron's plan seemed to be working.

Kreacher had cringed and whined, but the ghost's own considerable authority, bolstered by the borrowed weight of the name of Black, had proved sufficient to subdue the elf. Kreacher had promised to do whatever needed to be done in order to restore Sirius Black to life.

According to Severus's very specific instructions, a cauldron (iron, size three, bottom reinforced with copper), a stirring rod (opal glass, eighteen inches long) and a burner had been brought to his room. This had been a relatively easy task for the elf, since the cauldron and burner were both standard products – there were dozens of their kind stacked in a closet adjacent to the Potions classroom, waiting to be handed to the likes of Neville Longbottom, whose own equipment didn't survive many lessons. The rod, too, was standard, although used only by N.E.W.T.s preparation classes. Still, there was a sufficient number to be found at the school's own stores.

The ingredients, however, were an altogether different matter.

Since Severus's self-defenestration, there'd been three new Potions Masters at Hogwarts, none of whom, in Severus's opinion, even remotely deserved the title. His third successor, a middle-aged wizard by the name of Stanislaw Uliakoff – formerly employed at Durmstrang, which venerable institution he'd left after irreconcilable differences with the headmaster – had but one of the many qualities a good Potions Master needed, if he wanted to prove worthy of that name: His workspace and stock of supplies were meticulously organized.

This trait, laudable though it undoubtedly was, made it impossible for Kreacher to steal anything from Uliakoff's obsessively orderly cupboards. The theft would have been discovered immediately, due to the Potions teacher's habit of checking on his possessions ever second day, and the detection of ingredients being pilfered might ultimately lead to Severus's semi-solid presence becoming known.

'We'll have to send him to Hogsmeade,' Severus said glumly, when Nearly Headless Nick revealed to him Uliakoff's compulsive tidiness, a virtue that provided the rest of the staff with food for many jokes and jibes. 'And I'll have to accompany him, to make sure he doesn't make any mistakes or, heaven forbid, choose second-rate material.'

'You can't show yourself to him!' the Bloody Baron exclaimed. 'The whole plan hinges on Kreacher working for Sirius Black!'

'You don't have to remind me of that very obvious fact,' Severus snarled. He was having difficulties controlling his temper lately; whether it was cabin fever or merely impatience to see their plan through to a successful outcome, he didn't know. 'But,' he continued, infusing his voice with more calm than he actually felt, 'fortunately I was wearing a cloak when I died. A cloak with a hood, to be exact. Now Kreacher surely doesn't know how Black was apparelled when he went to meet his maker. I'll just have to pull the hood over my head and imitate Black's voice and way of speaking.'

The four ghosts looked politely doubtful.

'I i_have_ /ito be there,' Severus repeated. Aware that he was whining like a first-year, he cleared his throat. 'If that benighted elf picks faulty ingredients or, worse, the wrong ingredients…'

'Very well,' the Baron said after a pause. 'I shall talk to Kreacher. Would tomorrow suit you for your first excursion into Hogsmeade?'

'My schedule isn't too busy right now,' Severus replied snidely. 'Tomorrow would be just fine. And I trust there'll be just this one outing.'

The Baron's eyebrows rose. 'You never know.'

o

Kingsley Shacklebolt's imminent retirement and choice of successor were announced on 15 December to the British wizarding world.

Since the Minister for Magic was appointed by the Wizengamot, not by his predecessor, both Kingsley and Harry had agreed that the latter better not be present at the press conference – the Wizengamot may be happy with Kingsley's suggestion, but appearances had to be kept up. Publicly presenting the members of this august senate with a fait accompli might lead to unforeseen, adverse reactions on their part.

'I blocked my Floo connection,' Harry said breathlessly, entering Hermione's office and leaning against the closed door. 'Can you grant me asylum for a little while?'

Hermione looked up from the stack of parchments she'd been reading. 'Of course. Hestia will be here shortly, but you may retire to the bathroom, if she has any problems with you being present. Not that I think she will,' she added with a smile. 'You're going to be her boss, after all.'

Harry shrugged and flopped down into his customary armchair. 'It's all in the Wizengamot's hands now. I've done my bit by saying yes.'

'You won't be able to avoid the journalists forever, though.'

'I know I won't. I just want to let them cool down for a bit, before I have to face them. Ginny agreed to play victim.'

'Did she really?' Hermione managed a bland smile, but wasn't willing to discuss Ginny's noble sacrifice. 'Listen Harry, while you're here – and what with being my future boss and all that – I'd like to talk to you about these.' She waved the stack of parchments that had held her attention before Harry interrupted her.

'Don't be silly.' He shoved his glasses towards the bridge of his nose. 'If it's something I can help with, go ahead, but don't start that boss nonsense, in Merlin's name.'

'No, I don't think you ought to get involved,' she said pensively, twirling a lock of hair around her index finger. 'It's too… well, strange. And potentially damaging, especially now, before you've been officially appointed.'

Harry used the seam of his cloak to polish a bit of dirt from his boot. When the leather shone to his satisfaction, he looked at Hermione. 'I don't quite understand. If it's a problem now, it's Kingsley's problem, not mine. Or is it something you'll have to delegate to the Aurors?'

'It's…' Hermione released the lock, which sprang back into position, only to be caught and twirled anew. 'It's a feeling, really. Instinct. It might even be something for the Aurors, but I don't want to leave it to them. I'd rather investigate myself.'

'Yourself?' Harry perked up. 'As in, you're doing the dirty work yourself?'

'Exactly.' A flick of her wand sent the parchments into his outstretched hand. 'See for yourself.'

His face grew serious as he perused the material. 'This i_is_ /istrange.' He banished the stack back to Hermione's desk. 'Is this what you're going to talk about to Hestia?'

'No. As I said, I have to deal with it myself.'

Harry's chest rose with a deep sigh. 'It's uncanny. Not two weeks ago, we talked about the Elder Wand, and now somebody seems to have found the Stone.'

'Found?' Hermione smiled grimly. 'I don't think anybody could have accidentally stumbled across it.'

'I didn't say accidentally. "Found" may just as well signify that somebody searched for it. Actively.'

'And I don't know which explanation makes me feel worse. Because if somebody searched for it, that person has to be…'

'One of us,' Harry finished the sentence for her.

o

'What do you mean, no extract of Spiderbloom?' Severus remembered, just barely in time, that he had to maintain Sirius Black's intonation and diction. 'It has to be here!'

'Master Sirius never believes Kreacher,' the elf muttered. 'Always impolite, always bad-tempered with poor Kreacher. Kreacher always does his best, but Master Sirius is never satisfied.' The words became unrecognizable when he shuffled back to explore the shelves once again.

Severus, too, examined the storage room in the weak, bluish light of his ghostly wand. He'd done so twice already, and it seemed he had to accept the sad truth.

They'd gone to Selkirk's apothecary in Hogsmeade three times to, well, borrow what he needed for the Draught. On their first outing, he'd been outraged to see that two of the ingredients weren't in stock. The second trip had been useless, because obviously Selkirk hadn't received any new deliveries in the meantime. Worse than pointless, it had been dangerous, because Severus was pretty sure they'd been seen. The third time, they'd finally found the powdered roots of Sleepmewell, but luck still wasn't with them now, on their fourth visit – there continued to be a gaping hole on the shelf where by rights a jar of Spiderbloom extract ought to have stood.

And worse, they'd been spotted again.

Severus closed his eyes in resignation. They'd have to come back a fifth time. In the meantime, all he could do was hope that whoever had sighted them hadn't remembered in the morning. The wizard stumbling out of the Three Broomsticks in a state of delirious drunkenness surely hadn't had any memory the next day of the shadowy figure gliding past him. The little boy who'd been looking out of a window… If he recalled the event at all, he'd probably believe he'd dreamed it.

He called for Kreacher and told him to Apparate back to the castle. After a last, resentful look at the empty place on the shelf, Severus drifted through the door and onto the deserted street.

o

Although the surroundings were different, Hermione had a strong sense of déjà-vu. She was feeling extreme physical consciousness of herself, made more poignant by a sense of the rest of the world having retreated into chilly distance.

The chilliness was easy to explain; it was unusually cold on this night of winter solstice, with a sky stripped of the clouds that usually covered it at this time of the year. Hogwarts was far away from any city or settlement; up here, the brilliance of the stars wasn't being drowned out by the Muggles' aggressive need to illuminate every nook and cranny of their towns.

The stars glittered down at her sharply. Hermione raised her face towards their dazzling luminosity and stood still for a moment to gaze at the Milky Way. It was beautiful, and it somehow seemed to attract her with its promise of icy infinity. Like an enormous river, it flowed across its inky backdrop, beckoning for her to dive, submerge herself with arms and legs spread wide…

Hermione shivered and, with difficulty, forced herself to look down again. She had to fight a slight wave of vertigo. Again fully aware of her own body, she also had to admit to herself that she was feeling unaccountably aroused. What Ron couldn't seem to do anymore, the Milky Way had accomplished. She snorted and continued to walk towards the school's entrance door.

Minerva, who was as unhappy as Hermione about the rarity of their meetings, had been overjoyed when her all-time favourite had announced her visit.

'Do I have i_time_/i?' she'd repeated Hermione's words, exuding disapproval. 'My dear girl, barring Hogwarts being under attack, nothing, virtually nothing would be able to keep me from seeing you. Besides, it's the holidays – I trust you didn't miss your own children's return home?'

Hermione had smiled fondly at her former teacher's face hovering in the flames. 'The invasion of barbaric hordes would be easier to miss, believe me. But they've already left for Godric's Hollow – it's Harry and Ginny's turn this year to host the festivities.'

Even if the children had stayed, she would've had to make this trip to Hogwarts. The reports received from Law Enforcement at Hogsmeade were too disturbing. And she hadn't forgotten Hugo's letter – somehow, she was sure that the increased ghostly activity he'd told her about and the repeated sightings of a "shadowy half-man" in Hogsmeade were connected in some way she had yet to define. It had been the account given by a young boy that had galvanized her brain cells into frenetic motion: a child born in Hogsmeade knew exactly what a ghost looked like. Hermione doubted that a child used to the sight of ghosts would ever describe a ghost as a "shadowy half-man".

Disconcerting though the news were, Hermione allowed herself and her mentor of old a little time for pleasant small talk. They'd last seen each other during the summer holidays; there was a lot for them to catch up on.

When she felt she couldn't keep the reason for her spontaneous visit at the back of her mind any longer, Hermione put down her teacup and looked into McGonagall's eyes. 'I think I might have a problem,' she said. 'Or rather, there might be a problem – if it really is what I think it is, it won't be exclusively mine for very long. And I need your help.'

'Correct me if I'm wrong, but this doesn't sound like family troubles.'

'No, that's not what it is. Although…' She sighed and started fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. 'I first thought it was a family problem, if in a very weird way. Fortunately I, well we rather, have been able to discard that possibility.'

When she'd finished her account – it didn't take overly long, for there weren't too many hard facts for her to report – the room remained quiet for some time, the silence enhanced by the crackling of the flames in the fireplace.

'I have of course noticed the ghosts being busier than usual,' Minerva finally said. 'Now that you mention it, they i_did_ /iseem a wee bit frustrated.' A brief smile made the lines on her face more apparent. 'Hugo is an excellent observer. A trifle unorthodox maybe…'

'As I know from painful experience,' Hermione replied dryly.

'I don't doubt it. However' – she leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs at the ankles – 'that activity has completely ceased about two, maybe three, weeks ago. Everything is back to normal.'

'That's what Hugo told me yesterday, after they came home. Poor Hugo, he was so disappointed – he'd only just begun to investigate in earnest, when the phenomenon he was investigating suddenly stopped. That's about the worst thing that can happen to a detective, like when you've got a murder case on your hands, and suddenly the dead body is gone. I would've liked to tell him that there was more, but obviously I couldn't.' The two women exchanged a smile, and Hermione continued, 'Anyway, there's that strange matter of the shadowy half-man… You're the expert when it comes to children of a purely wizarding background: would any such child use these words to describe a ghost?'

McGonagall resolutely shook her head. 'Absolutely not. Just as you or I would never dream of calling a broomstick a long pole with twigs attached to one end. A ghost is a ghost, and every nine-year old wizard would certainly call it thus.'

With that last little snippet of hope gone, Hermione's heart sank. 'So somebody i_has_ /ifound the ring.'

'It certainly seems that somebody did.' McGonagall sighed. 'Is there any way I can help?'

'Thank you Minerva. I really appreciate your offer. But' – she rummaged in her bag and pulled out a folded sheet of parchment and a bundle of iridescent cloth – 'I don't think I need you to help me actively, not for the time being at least. But if you could manage to turn a blind eye to my using these, that'd be enormously helpful.'

The older witch smiled thinly. 'I hadn't thought I'd set eyes on these ever again.'

'Nor had I. But I discussed the matter with Harry, and he agreed that it's too potentially dangerous – politically dangerous, I mean – for the Aurors or MLE to be officially involved. At least for now. We'll see about the ramifications later.'

'It certainly looks dodgy enough,' McGonagall said. 'The description given by old Derek Westerley…'

Their eyes met.

'Yes,' Hermione said, 'Exactly my thoughts. That's why I thought that starting here, at the school, might be best. Although I have to admit that the list of ingredients Selkirk reported stolen doesn't really make sense to me. It looks as if he meant to brew the Draught of Sleeping Death, but the Spiderbloom extract just doesn't fit. It ought to be wormwood – surely he can't have forgotten?'

'No,' McGonagall said slowly. 'No, I don't think he can, wherever he's been these last twenty-two years. If you ask me…' She stopped in mid-sentence and put a finger to her lips, frowning. 'Could he have developed some kind of variation to the original recipe? Something that might… finish the job Voldemort began?'

'I honestly have no idea.' Hermione unfolded the map. 'I'll have to ask the man himself, I guess. I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good.'

McGonagall got up from her chair and went to her desk, where Hermione had spread out the Marauders' Map and was already busy scanning it. 'With so few people here – I knew that Agnes had something going with Uliakoff!' she exclaimed. 'Look, they're both in his quarters!'

Hermione snorted. 'Pity, really, that we never used the map to discover who was making out with whom. We could've made millions by blackmailing people.' Still smiling, she scrutinized the parchment. 'Where on earth could he be?' The tip of her right index finger roamed the dungeons. 'Not in his former domain, anyway. Do you think' – she looked at the headmistress – 'that in his current state he might not show on the map at all, provided we're right in assuming that he's here in the first place?'

'That's possible, but I think the map would sense his presence, if he were in the building at all. It shows the-'

Their heads nearly collided, as both women bent lower to have a closer look at the mass movement of ghosts that had suddenly appeared on the map.

'Like an ant trail,' Hermione murmured. 'They're all heading towards…'

A sharp, simultaneous intake of breath. Two index fingers stabbed at two isolated black dots located in a room on the third floor, towards which the stream of black specks representing the ghosts of Hogwarts was flowing with evident determination.

'Winky,' Hermione breathed. 'Of course, he needed somebody to brew for him – he's probably too ghost-like to be able to touch solid objects.' She straightened up. 'Thanks for everything, Minerva. I have to go and talk to Snape. Professor Snape,' she corrected herself. 'I need to know who brought him back… Maybe he needs help… Heaven knows what kind of potion he made Winky brew for him…'

McGonagall gave a sharp nod. 'There's a fireplace in that room. Floo me, if you need anything.'

With the Invisibility Cloak already draped over her, Hermione's disembodied head smiled at her former teacher. 'I will. And, Minerva… This visit never happened.'

'That was ever so slightly clichéd.' The headmistress patted an invisible shoulder, provoking a snort from under the cloak. 'Trust me. I've already forgotten all about it.'

o

So this was it, Severus thought. One by one, he glanced at the three bottles lined up on the table.

The first one contained the draught Kreacher had brewed, supervised by who he thought was Sirius Black brought back from the realm of death, following Avicenna's recipe for a concoction that supposedly infused the walking un-dead with new life.

Severus smiled to himself. A few bits and pieces had fallen into place quite nicely – he'd never quite understood why Dumbledore had been so reckless as to actually slip the ring onto his finger, knowing full well that Voldemort had turned it into a Horcrux. But Albus had always been a sentimental old fool. He'd known what the ring could do, and he'd known about Avicenna's draught for many years, and when he'd finally found the ring, he'd been convinced of his ability to truly bring people back from the dead.

Whom had Dumbledore meant to call back from death to life, Severus wondered. After sacrificing so many, had he intended to choose a happy few? Or had he been determined to undo all his sins of the past by playing God – his favourite game – and reviving every single of his more or less willing victims?

Had Dumbledore been prepared to confront them? Severus snorted to himself. Knowing the old man, he'd probably expected them to thank him on their knees. Pity, really, that he hadn't succeeded. Severus would have liked to watch the self-appointed God being roughed up by his not-so-loyal subjects.

His former boss had done him a big favour though. Severus was convinced that Dumbledore would never have tried to use the ring, had he not been absolutely certain that Avicenna's potion worked. As certain as could be, anyway, for as far as Severus knew, the experiment had hitherto been a purely theoretical one.

So it was still a leap of faith, Severus mused, his eyes returning to the bottles. But it was also his one and only chance.

In seemed that, in this state of half-life-half-death, he had difficulties making up his mind. It was an unaccustomed sensation, that hovering-in-between, that uncertainty which of two alternatives was the right one.

He'd hated his life as Dumbledore's double agent. But while still alive, he'd at least always known what to do. There hadn't been room for any what-if's and yes-but's. Decisions had to be made quickly; the slightest hesitation would have been lethal.

He quite simply wasn't used to having a choice, because for so many years his choices, the really important ones, had been made for him by others. Come to think of it, he'd only made one, though perhaps not the most fortunate: that of joining Voldemort's Death Eaters. The rest had been – well, a long series of consequences contained in that one decision like malevolent matrioshka dolls.

Now, however, it was entirely up to him.

If he felt like remaining a walking un-dead forever, or even only for the near future, there was nothing and nobody to keep him from doing exactly that. If, on the contrary, he chose to swallow that draught, who was there to tell him he'd better not take that path? Nobody. He was his own master, for the first time in his life. Existence. Whatever.

If he was ruthlessly honest with himself – and at this juncture, where was the point in lying to himself? – he had to admit that he was both ecstatic and mortally afraid. He felt as vulnerable and insecure as the day he'd first crossed Hogwarts' threshold. He had an entire life ahead of him. A life, not an existence. Friendship, maybe, contentment, quiet evenings reading and doing a bit of research, perhaps a place of his own with a garden and a cat, and, dare he hope, a companion?

Before he died, he would have cruelly chastised himself for entertaining such bourgeois fantasies. A life-saving mechanism, if there ever was any. One careless step into such a fantasy, and he would've been unable to continue.

Lily had been the only fantasy he'd allowed himself, because she was dead and a future with her impossible. A safely unattainable dream, a refuge outside reality.

Now, however, if he dared cross the line, he was allowed to dream. Not of a long-dead woman, but of something tangible that might really become his. His very own. He'd never possessed anything. A bit of money, yes, saved up over the years. But never anything that would have bound him to life. Now he was free to acquire not only a life, but whatever would be waiting for him along the road.

Who had ever had the privilege of witnessing his own birth and been free to decide whether or not he wanted to be born?

It was a heady feeling.

What the heck, he'd do it. Nothing could be worse than what was lying behind him, now could it?

'Repeat my instructions,' he said, turning to Winky, who was anxiously hovering next to the table.

Kreacher had been sworn to secrecy and dismissed as soon as he'd finished brewing. Neither Severus nor the Bloody Baron were naive enough to believe that the elf would follow their orders, once he discovered that he hadn't been working for Sirius Black.

Winky, though less clever, was a lot more gullible.

'I is to pour the content of the first bottle into your mouth, sir,' she began her stammering litany. 'When you is solid, sir, I has to make you drink the second one, and then I must make you drink the third bottle.'

'Excellent. And you remember, don't you, that you have to perform these tasks regardless of any orders to the contrary I might give you.'

Her discomfort at the possibility of having to disregard any orders given to her was evident in the elf's expression, but she nodded. 'Yes, sir, I remembers that.'

The clock in the corner showed two minutes to eight. The ghosts were due to arrive anytime now – they were needed to make sure Winky wouldn't succumb to any instructions countermanding the orders she had been given. Severus expected a good deal of pain, maybe disorientation, perhaps even a certain unwillingness of his shadowy self to re-enter a solid body.

And he certainly wasn't going to leave anything to chance.

The clock's innards began the asthmatic rattling and jangling which indicated that it was about to strike the full hour. When the echo of the last silvery note had died down, the room was crammed with silence and ghosts.

Spindly fingers trembling, Winky emptied the first bottle into the Potions Master's mouth.


	5. Chapter 2 Part 1

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWO

BUT TO BE IN THIS STRANGE WORLD WAS A THOUSAND TIMES WORSE

He'd expected the pain and dizzy disorientation. Correctly, as it turned out.

But he'd certainly not imagined to be greeted, once he could bring himself to open his eyes, by a curly-headed… No, scratch that. By a curly female head which seemed to have mislaid its body. The head looked nice enough; he hoped that the body had been only temporarily misplaced, seeing as it probably was a nice body…

Speaking of bodies… If the pain currently short-circuiting his muscles was any indication, the procedure had been successful. If – and that was a very big IF – uncontrollable convulsions could be termed a success.

Severus decided that being conscious was definitely overrated.

o

After the first shock had passed, Practical Hermione rudely shoved Oh-My-God-This-Can't-Be-Happening Hermione out of the way, rolled up her sleeves and decided that something had to be done.

Not sure whether the application of healing spells might not do irreparable damage to Snape's recently restored body, she shoved her wand back into her left sleeve and got rid of the Invisibility Cloak, which was considerably hampering her movement. She then forced a tightly-rolled handkerchief between Snape's teeth, to prevent him from biting off his tongue.

After a few minutes, the intervals between convulsions began to lengthen. The blood replenishing potion Winky the House Elf had been pouring into his mouth when Hermione entered the room appeared to be doing its job, too; Snape's face was slowly going from grey to its customary yellowish paleness. And the wounds on his neck were healing, too. So the third bottle must have been some kind of healing potion.

Hermione nodded in tacit agreement. She appreciated careful planning.

Snape lay still and limp – suddenly anxious, she checked his pulse. It was a little fluttery but definitely there. A mirror, quickly conjured and held to his lips, made her exhale with relief. He was breathing.

Sitting back on her haunches, Hermione allowed herself to deal with her own nervous excitement, all the while keeping an eye on Snape, who hadn't had a seizure for ten minutes. It seemed that the worst was over. She fished a bar of medichocolate from her pocket, unwrapped it with shaking hands and bit off a large chunk.

Elf and ghosts were silently watching her.

She jumped when the Bloody Baron cleared his throat.

'I think,' the Slytherin Ghost said, 'that there would be no danger in giving some of your chocolate to Professor Snape. He certainly looks as if he could use a little energy.'

Hermione got to her feet – she wasn't afraid of the Slytherin Ghost as she'd been during her first years at Hogwarts, but his presence still made her uneasy. Besides, whether ghost or living being, she didn't like having to look up at whomever she was talking to.

'You're probably right. I'm going to feed him some right away. But before I do, I'd like you to answer a few questions. If you are so inclined,' she added as a reaction to his mien becoming haughty and forbidding.

The ghost remained quiet for some time, obviously weighing the fact that she was a Gryffindor against her having succoured the former Head of Slytherin.

'I think,' he finally said, 'that you ought to seek your answers from Professor Snape. He has, however, not been very forthcoming with information concerning his return to this world. I doubt that he will be more talkative with a former student.'

'I'm not here in my capacity as Professor Snape's former student,' she replied, feeling unaccountably stung by his words. 'I'm the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, and very interested in the circumstances of Professor Snape's reappearance here at Hogwarts.'

'My apologies.' The Baron bowed to her, the politeness of the gesture belying the irony of his tone. 'You surprise me, though. Since you are not wearing uniform, I would have expected you to be here on private business, not an official mission.'

'It is both,' Hermione said curtly. 'And I'd thank you' – she glanced around herself, at the lingering ghosts, packed tightly in the small chamber – 'to keep this to yourselves. You too, Winky.'

'Yes, ma'am,' the elf stammered. 'A-and I tells… I tells Kreacher too.'

'Kreacher?' Hermione whirled round to look at the Baron. 'Kreacher is in on this, too?'

'He went to get the ingredients together with Professor Snape.'

'But…' She shook her head, not sure what to make of this bit of news. 'But why?'

The question remained unanswered, because Severus chose that particular moment to emit a loud groan and try to raise himself to a sitting position.

'How do you feel?' Hermione knelt down next to him and handed him a piece of medichocolate.

He took it, sniffed it and, obviously satisfied with the result, popped it in his mouth. 'Better,' he said after swallowing with evident relish. 'Can I have some more?'

Hermione was about to break off another piece, but he stopped her. 'Let me do it. I'd like to see for myself if my muscles are working properly.'

His outstretched hand, waiting for the chocolate, was twitching slightly.

'Do you think that's a good idea? You might have another seizure, if you overtax-'

'I know what I'm doing, Miss Granger. Now give me the bloody chocolate!'

Sighing, she handed him the sweet and watched as he clumsily peeled back the foil and finally managed to detach a rather small piece.

'You haven't changed,' she observed, while he ate with apparent relish, already helping himself to another chunk.

'Seeing as I just got my body back after twenty years in limbo, that's good news,' he replied evenly.

'I was referring to your phenomenal social skills, not your appearance. Although…' She examined him. 'Its true, time doesn't seem to have altered you physically, either. You were what, forty, forty-one, when you died?'

'Thirty-eight, to be exact.' The last piece of chocolate vanished in his mouth. 'That makes me younger than you, doesn't it? You must be over forty by now.'

'I turned forty-one in September. So you'd better behave nicely towards your elders.'

Severus snorted. 'I'll see what I can do. What are you doing here, by the way? You aren't a teacher, are you? I don't remember seeing you among the staff.'

Hermione gave him the abridged version. 'I was just asking the Baron here to keep all this secret,' she finished her tale, 'And I'm sure I – we can trust the ghosts. What about Winky though? And why did you have to involve Kreacher? Of all the stupid-'

'Still the same know-it-all,' he said scathingly. 'I'll tell you about it later, if I'm in the mood. Right now, I want a bath, a beer, a change of clothes, and a steak. In that order. The elves will have to be obliviated before I leave. You'll have to do the honours, though, since I don't quite trust myself yet, not with a charm as difficult as Obliviate.'

'Leave?' Hermione stared at him open-mouthed. 'You can't just leave – where would you want to go? You're officially dead, Snape, have been for more than twenty years, do you think you can just walk out of here and tell the world you're back?'

Still sitting on the floor, since he wasn't too confident about his legs' ability to carry him just yet, Severus frowned up at her. 'You mean you came here to investigate, but you didn't have the first idea what to do about me?'

'It was a hunch, nothing more! How could I have known you'd be back to solid once I found you? What was that potion you had Winky brew for you anyway? How did you…'

This wasn't going to get them anywhere, she realized. Snape was right. She had to obliviate the elves first, and then she had to take him with her, away from Hogwarts.

Now that she was taking time to actually think about the situation, it dawned on Hermione that there was absolutely nowhere Snape could go at the moment. He'd been the owner of some dingy place near Manchester while he was alive, but all his possessions had gone to the Ministry, because there had neither been a testament nor a living relative… He was her responsibility now.

This conclusion came as something of a shock to Hermione. She sat down on the floor next to her former teacher, who was watching her with a sardonic amusement she thought wholly inappropriate for the occasion, and tried to get her thoughts into some semblance of order.

'All right,' she said slowly. 'Let's leave the questions for later. Right now, I'll have to obliviate the elves and take you home.'

'Miss Granger, I'm sure your dedication to my welfare is most flattering, but may I point out that I'm not a stray dog for you to take home.'

'It's Mrs Weasley, and you're a stray Potions Master.'

'Weasley? You're i_married_/i?'

'So sorry to destroy your hopes, Professor. Yes, I'm married.'

He didn't even acknowledge the quip. 'To a Weasley? What in Merlin's name were you thinking, girl?'

'My reasons for marrying Ron are none-'

'Ronald Weasley?' Severus slapped his forehead. 'I'd thought you'd at least have had the sense to pick one of those unnerving twins, or maybe Percy… But Ronald? That incompetent nincompoop, how-'

He fell silent abruptly, when the tip of Hermione's wand made painful contact with his throat, boring right into the barely-healed spot where Nagini had sunk her fangs.

'Don't forget where and who you are, i_Professor_/i,' she spat. 'You're i_that_ /iclose' – her left thumb and index finger were maybe a millimetre apart – 'to being put into custody, where they'll feed you Veritaserum and make you spill all your little secrets. You may be officially dead now, but once they've cleared up that trifling legal matter, there'll be a trial waiting for you. So you'd better not provoke me too much.'

The black eyes glanced back at her, betraying no emotion at all.

'Threats won't get you anywhere, Mrs Weasley. I am well aware of my current status, and equally well prepared to face the consequences.' He swiped at her wand with surprising strength. 'I spent more than half of my life under a very similar threat – the Damocles sword dangling above my head, ready to come down at Dumbledore's whim. I have no intention at all to start my new life walking into the same trap again. I neither want nor need your help. Kindly accept that.'

'You can't stay here,' she said quietly. 'You know you can't. It would be the life of a prisoner – you don't want that, do you?'

He merely shrugged, avoiding her eyes.

'I didn't mean to threaten you. And I'm not like Dumbledore. I won't bully you into doing anything you don't want to do. But tell me: do you think you have another option? I'm offering to shelter you for as long as necessary to get through the legal implications of your coming back. Harry's going to help…'

'Potter?' he snarled. 'Why would Potter help me?'

'Things have changed, Professor. He took your memories – you remember telling him to collect them just before you died?'

He smirked. 'I do remember, yes. My last thought was that I ought to have forbidden him to take them, just to make sure he did.'

'Well, he took them anyway. He looked at them before he went to face Voldemort, and afterwards… Look, I'll explain it to you, all of it. Come home with me, and I promise I'll sort out this mess. I know you're feeling trapped, and I'm sorry about it.'

She got to her feet and held out her hand.

'You can trust me. I won't do anything to harm you.'

Severus stared up at her for a long time. 'All right,' he finally said, taking her hand and allowing her to pull him to his feet. 'I trust you. But don't feel too flattered. Because, just as you said, it's the only option I have.'

o

He'd completely forgotten the feel of water on his skin. No, forgotten wasn't the right word at all. The memory had been there, but somehow inaccessible, probably because you needed a body in the first place, in order to remember physical sensations. He hadn't really missed this, either; certainly not while he was drifting in limbo, in a kind of existence that defied description, because the very notion of existing was linked to time.

But to sense a bar of soap gliding between his hands… It was slippery and hard, its surface already beginning to soften. Add a bit of water, just a tiny bit, and continue rubbing, and the slimy film on your hands will start to foam. Fluffy white lather, giving off an aroma of citrus and cleanliness.

He inhaled deeply. After an hour in Mrs Weasley's bathtub, which he'd refilled twice, he still felt he'd never get enough of this. The smell of fresh water, combined with the aroma of grilled meat wafting in through the gap under the door, was almost enough to make him feel light-headed and drunk. The beer was probably going to finish the job.

Severus grabbed the half-full bottle standing on the tiled edge of the tub and treated himself to a deep swig. He'd have to be careful not to fall asleep – death by drowning in a bathtub, a mere hour after having regained a solid body… Fate may have a certain penchant for irony, but such an anticlimactic demise would surely be too much, even for Dame Fate's warped sense of humour. One couldn't be entirely sure though.

Another large gulp, and the bottle of lager was almost empty. Ah, the bitterness, the sting of thousands of tiny bubbles on the tongue, then the sweetness and the tang of alcohol. He burped delicately and allowed his thoughts to return to the woman who'd saved him, for lack of a better word.

He'd recognized her immediately, of course. She was prettier than he remembered her, in an unconventional way. Describing her as pretty didn't really do her justice, though. Her face was pleasant enough; what made it attractive, however, came from within. The bossiness of her youth had been transformed into authority. Real authority, the kind you got by personal growth, intelligence, shouldering responsibility and living up to it. He'd called her girl merely by habit – there was nothing girlish anymore about the woman she'd become. She'd always been too clever by half; Severus hoped that her marriage to Ron Weasley hadn't made her hesitate to use that intelligence. He felt exasperated at the mere idea that she might have curbed that fierce intellect to fit the narrow limits of her husband's expectations.

The fact that she'd married somebody so far beneath her, at least as far as brains were concerned, was still a mystery to him. Studying his bony, white hands, Severus admitted to himself that he might have expressed his surprise in a more diplomatic fashion. He wasn't quite sure why the thought kept bugging him. Maybe because it was Lily Potter all over again – a witch so bright and full of promise, married to a wizard no more than average…

His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp rap on the door. 'Are you decent?' Hermione called from outside.

Severus peered down into the murky bathwater. 'All covered by water, if that's decent enough for you.'

The door opened a few inches, and Hermione's head came into view. 'Not really,' she said, grinning. 'Your steak is ready, Professor. You've been in here for over an hour, You must be as wrinkly as a dried shrivelfig. It's time for dinner now, don't you think?' The head vanished, to be replaced by an arm holding a stack of clothes. 'I've transfigured a few of Ron's things, they'll have to do till I can get you something of your own tomorrow.'

She deposited the pile on the floor, next to the door.

'The food won't get any better under the stasis spell. You'd better come quickly.'

'Bossy know-it-all,' he muttered under his breath.

He hadn't intended for her to hear it, but the laughter coming from the other side of the door told him that she had.

o

'You'll be sick,' Hermione said indulgently, when he speared another steak onto his plate.

'Probably. But this will be worth it, I assure you.'

He'd been hoping for a steak, maybe a potato or two to go with it; but when he entered the dining room, he'd been greeted by a veritable feast. There wasn't one steak, but four of them; there were roast potatoes and gravy, there was a large platter containing steamed vegetables, and a bowl of saffron rice, a plate heaped with crispy slices of bacon. There was an apple tart, and cheese, and four kinds of bread…

'Besides,' he added after swallowing the first mouthful, 'if you wanted to put me on a diet, why prepare this gargantuan supper?'

'I had to show you that accepting shelter in my house wasn't all bad, didn't I?' She smiled at him. 'And of course I wanted to baffle you with my cooking skills.'

'You surprised me there, true.'

'You would have been the first man to accept without consternation that being bright doesn't mean I can't cook. Flattering as that may be, it says a lot about stereotyped male thinking.'

'My, erm, consternation owes nothing to that admittedly clichéd way of thinking.' He took an appreciative sip of Shiraz. 'I am merely amazed that you were able to develop any cooking skills with Molly Weasley as your mother-in-law. I would have expected her to invade your household, if only to make sure her precious baby didn't die of neglect.'

Frowning at her forkful of potatoes, Hermione said, 'You're painting an accurate picture of my first years of married life, Professor. But-'

'Do you think you might find it in yourself to call me something else? I'm not quite sure who or what I am right now. But I'm sure that I'm not your professor.'

'No, you're not,' she admitted. 'It's just old habit, I guess.' Putting down her cutlery, she refilled first his and then her wineglass. 'You tell me how I ought to address you. Mr Snape sounds funny, though.'

He nodded. 'Reminds me of Hogwarts. Being called Mister but treated like a child.'

'Well, you were a child, most of the time,' she said reasonably, without rising to his bait. 'But I know what you mean. Mr Snape's out then.'

With a longing look at the still-impressive heap of potatoes sitting just out of his reach, he said, 'You could call me Severus.'

'Is this the hunger speaking, or is it you?' Hermione passed him the platter. 'I'd like to call you Severus, mind you, but… You're still rather disorientated and vulnerable, I think. Are you sure you'll be comfortable with us being on a first name basis? Because you know' – she quickly grabbed the dish, which was in danger of sliding from Severus's still-weak grip – 'if I'm to call you Severus, you'll have to call me Hermione. That's only fair. Besides, Mrs Weasley always makes me think of Molly.'

She pulled a face, and he laughed. 'You're nothing like Molly Weasley, but I understand. Given your rank, Madam Weasley would be a possibility, though.'

'I know. Everybody addresses me as Madam, at the Ministry. But you can't deny that it smacks of old age.'

'Hermione it is, then.'

She watched him attack his third helping of potatoes and vegetables with gusto. 'You _have_ changed,' she finally ventured. 'You seem less, well, irritable. More open.'

'Wait till I've eaten my fill and had a good night's sleep. I'll be back to my old self faster than you can say grumpy old dungeon-bat.'

'It was very bad, wasn't it? Your last year at Hogwarts, I mean.'

Eyes narrowed, he stared at her. But all he detected in her face was interest. No trace of pity; maybe sympathy, but not the fake, shoulder-patting, it's-all-going-to-be-okay kind.

'It was so bad that I was glad to die,' he said curtly. 'But I'd rather not talk about it just now.'

'We'll leave that for tomorrow,' she agreed. 'That and the questions.'

'I'm not going to tell you anything,' he said, suddenly very much like his former, surly self.

'We'll see,' was the lenient answer.

'Don't treat me like a mentally impaired toddler!'

'I'm treating you like an adult, but considering that you're a tired, puzzled and lethally stuffed adult.' Unfazed by his murderous stare, she poured him more wine. 'Besides, I promised not to pressure you, and I'm going to keep that promise. I can't vouch for Ron, though. But I'll tell him to leave you in peace. Harry's going to be easier on you – he remembers all too well the delights of being picked apart.'

'I suppose he does,' Severus conceded with ill grace. 'So why did he agree to Shacklebolt's plan?'

Hermione gave him an impish smile. 'No questions tonight, remember? You can ask him yourself when you meet. And that impersonation of Saint Sebastian being martyred is absolutely uncalled for!'

o

Ron, who had worked another night shift, was due home shortly after eight a.m. Unsure how her husband was going to react to the news – she hadn't told him anything yet, because she hadn't expected her discreet inquiry to yield so spectacular and startling a result – Hermione had set her alarm clock for seven and, after her first cup of coffee, put a sleeping spell on the Potions Master to ensure he wouldn't intrude upon their discussion at an awkward moment.

She didn't feel too sanguine about breaking the news to Ron. Severus's presence at their house was probably going to be less of an issue here; knowing Ron, she was pretty sure, however, that he'd take the information about her and Harry having kept a secret from him quite badly. More so as the secret was linked to Harry becoming the next Minister.

Ron still hadn't accepted the idea; Hermione knew him well enough to be sure he hadn't. She'd repeatedly advised him to go and talk to his friend, for heaven's sake, because Harry was obviously able to provide a much more authentic explanation of his motives. But Ron had remained stubborn – a character trait she'd previously mistaken for firmness but come to loathe once she recognized it for what it was – and chosen sulking over maturity.

If he continued like this, Christmas was truly something to look forward to.

Hermione was trying to come up with the worst possible scenario for Christmas (hoping that whatever really happened would be slightly less unpleasant), when a crack from the entrance told her that her husband had returned to home and hearth.

He took the news every bit as badly as she'd anticipated, though with the added (and unanticipated) bonus of going beet red when he heard about their house guest.

'He's my responsibility,' Hermione remarked coolly, as soon as she was able to get a word in edgewise. 'It's got nothing to do with you, Ron. If necessary – although I don't believe it will come to that – Harry will of course corroborate my story.'

'Your responsibility?' He went beet red all over again, mere seconds after having returned to a less alarming shade of purple. 'This is our house, and he's staying under our roof. That means my reputation will be damaged as much as yours, if the rumour gets out. I won't have it. Throw him out, this instant!'

'Then move to the Burrow or to Godric's Hollow for a while,' she said, 'wait until I've sorted it out. Nobody will be able to drag you into it if the story really gets out.'

'What about Rose and Hugo?'

She frowned. 'I'm afraid I don't quite understand.'

'They have a reputation too!'

'Ron, they're children! Nobody's going to believe they had a hand in this business!'

'You think I'm going to allow them to stay here, in this house, while you're snuggling up to a Death Eater?'

'Snuggling…' Hermione felt her face grow hot. Probably she was even redder than Ron now. 'Are you crazy? I'm offering asylum to a man who saved our collective arses twenty years ago, and you…'

Calm down, she told herself. You don't want to have a major fight right now. You want to convince him that keeping Snape here for a few weeks isn't the end of the world. You want to project calm and confidence.

'This is as much my house as it is yours. Snape is my guest, not my lover or whatever you seem to imagine. He'll stay here until the legal aspects of being brought back to life are cleared, and you're going to treat him with the respect he deserves. You don't have to like him, you don't have to talk to him. You merely have to tolerate him. For my sake, if not for the simple reason that he's a human being in need of help.'

Ron shot her a mutinous look, but she stared him down.

'All right,' he said, 'He can stay. But I don't want him to eat with us.'

'He will eat at this table,' Hermione replied, her tone as cold and unbending as steel, 'Just like you and me. A fine example you'd set our children – how do you think you'd explain to them that Snape, or whatever we're going to call him when they're here, is excluded from our company?'

'I don't need to explain to them-'

'Oh yes, you do! More than to anybody else! If you want them to become decent human beings, you have to set them an example, not teach them abstract moral principles. Your children judge you by what you do, not what you think. What are you going to tell them, huh?'

'I… hadn't thought about that,' Ron said gruffly.

'Apparently not. So, are we agreed? Snape stays?'

'If you insist.'

'I'll take that as a yes,' she said tartly and got up to lift the sleeping spell off her guest.

o

If he had thought that food, drink and a bath constituted heaven, that was because he hadn't yet put his head on a wonderfully soft pillow, stretched out his limbs on a mattress that was just the right degree of hard, and covered his body with a light, warm feather bed, to finally close his eyes and breathe in the deliciously cool and fragrant night air coming in through the half-open window.

Sleep had been bliss.

He had dreamed, yes, but for once there hadn't been any nightmares. He remembered dissociated images, some of them vaguely disturbing but none of them threatening.

When he woke up, he felt fully human.

Severus stretched, yawned and found that he was looking forward to coffee and maybe a slice of toast with butter and honey. Was this his reward? Had he spent twenty seemingly endless years as a Death Eater and spy, and another twenty-two in the boring confines of limbo, to be brought back – if unintentionally – to an existence where, for the first time, he was able to savour the small pleasures life was offering him?

He'd given himself into the hands of one Hermione Weasley. For the time being, he was more or less incapable of deciding what to do with his new life. Much to his own surprise, he didn't feel helpless or trapped, not right now at least. She wasn't treating him as her prisoner or pawn. She was also a high-ranking official at the Ministry of Magic, and unless she was the most consummate liar since Albus Dumbledore, she'd use her influence to help him.

Yes, she really was a lot like Lily, but without the judgmental streak. Lily had always been special to him – though not as special as he'd made Dumbledore believe – because of her faith in him as a fundamentally good person. The trouble with Lily had been that her friendship had been based on that conviction. Once she'd had reason to believe that he was anything but, she'd dropped him without further ado.

Miss Granger, no, Hermione, on the other hand, was evidently helping him because he was a human being in need of assistance. He honestly preferred her approach. It was less daunting and easier to accept.

While in the shower, Severus caught himself pondering Hermione's history – how had a ruthless little rule breaker (he'd forgotten none of her antics, neither his cloak going up in flames, nor her cat's tail, nor Buckbeak, nor indeed Umbridge's unfortunate encounter with the centaurs or Dumbledore's army) come to be the wizarding world's supreme law enforcer? How come she'd married Ronald Weasley and had two kids? How had she managed to beat the wizarding society's chauvinism and risen through the ranks so fast, burdened with a husband and two children?

He dried himself off, coming to the conclusion that she probably managed her family just as she'd managed the two boys while at school. Weasley was the type who accepted being managed without even putting up a fight; he'd been clubbed into submission by his mother, after all, so he likely hadn't even noticed the transition from one enslavement to the next.

Admitting to himself that he didn't have much experience to speak of when it came to relationships, Severus nonetheless wondered about the kind of life the Weasley couple might be leading. Was there any part of that life where ickle Ronniekins was able to hold his own against his bossy wife? Sex maybe? Severus shuddered and closed his eyes – no, that was a mental image he definitely didn't need.

And now he had to deal with an erection.

Though a most welcome sign of being alive, healthy and a warm-blooded male, it was embarrassing insofar as it had been caused by imagining Hermione Weasley tying the submissive redhead down on the bed, to have her wicked, tyrannical ways with him. And it wasn't the meek male who'd turned him on…

With a sigh, Severus unbuttoned the fly of his trousers and positioned himself right in front of the shower. At least he could deal with it here and now, without having to invent excuses for leaving the room in a hurry.

He didn't last long, not that he'd expected he would.

While rinsing the tiles, he tried to convince himself that Hermione Weasley was really a prim, uptight and probably frigid woman who looked horrible in black fishnet stockings.

o


	6. Chapter 2 Part 2

'Where's Ron

'Where's Ron?' Harry asked, still hugging Hermione.

After Severus had finally declared himself stuffed to the gills and gone to bed, Hermione had sent Bogus to Godric's Hollow with a short message, asking Harry to pay her a visit as soon as possible. He'd taken the morning off from work and Apparated to Tinworth immediately after breakfast.

'Sulking,' she replied. Her frown vanished when she held Harry at arm's length. 'You got crumbs in your hair, so you've already had breakfast.'

'A masterpiece of deduction, dearest Sherlock.' He bent slightly, so she could brush the bits of bread from his hair. 'But coffee would be nice all the same, unless it's too much trouble.' He followed her to the kitchen. 'Why's he sulking?'

'Oh, he's having trouble adjusting to certain news,' Hermione said, aiming for lightness. It came out more sharply than she'd intended, though.

'The news concerning Snape, or the news concerning me?'

'Both, I'm afraid. He hasn't talked to you yet, has he?'

Cursing the sudden nervous tremor in her right hand, Hermione turned slightly to shield it from Harry's view with her back. She didn't want to burden him with more problems than he already had, and certainly not with tales of her more than usually bumpy marriage.

But Harry, darling Harry, had learned so much since the months they'd spent hunting for Horcruxes. The boy he'd been back then had retreated into himself, leaving her desperately alone while she was crying her eyes out over Ron's churlish desertion. The man he was now – thanks to therapy and a wife who refused to be shut out – was able to give and receive affection.

She relaxed into the hands he'd put on her shoulders.

'Things aren't going too well between the two of you, eh?' he muttered, massaging her knotted muscles.

'Not really, no. I can't seem to do things right anymore, since… Oh, I don't know since when. I'm trying to be less, you know, bossy and dictatorial, but sometimes…' She turned round to face him. 'Take this morning, for example. He was being so… so stubborn and unreasonable about Snape. You should have heard him! His arguments – I was close to throwing something at him, merely to make him wake up and see what an idiot he was being! His reputation, and a Death Eater in our house, and… What did he think I ought to do? Apart from all the questions we need him to answer, I couldn't just throw him out and leave him to care for himself, could I?'

'Feeling better now?' Harry asked, letting go of her with a smile.

'Considerably.' She dabbed at her eyes with a tea towel and continued to prepare their coffee.

'I'm surprised though,' he said. They sat down at the kitchen table with their steaming mugs. He sipped, nodded his appreciation and took another sip. 'Why is Ron being so irrational about Snape? I mean, I told you two everything, well almost everything, I'd seen in the pensieve. Maybe I ought to have shown you? Maybe that's what I ought to do now – do you think it would make him change his mind?'

Holding the cup in both hands, relishing the warmth that seeped into her hands, Hermione slowly shook her head. 'I don't think so, no. And honestly, I don't think it's about Snape. Not really. He just feels that things are… wrong. Our marriage, his career or lack thereof, you becoming Minister – it's all too much for him, and he needs a target. Usually that's me, but I'm not an easy target. Snape is just the thing he needs, someone to blame for all that's wrong.' She put down the cup and balled her hands into white-knuckled fists. 'Believe it or not, he accused me of wanting to snuggle up to Snape, those were his exact words, with the children here to witness…'

'He didn't!'

'Oh yes, he did. I didn't react too well, as you can probably imagine.'

'Got out the heavy weaponry and beat him into a pulp?'

'More or less.' She gave him a lopsided smile. 'We have to resolve this matter as quickly as possible, Harry. I'll let Snape stay here for as long as it takes, but for all our sakes, I hope it's going to be a short stay.'

'I'll take him in, if necessary.'

Hermione reached across the table to take his hand. 'Thanks, Harry. But I'd rather not take you up on your offer. Imagine some reporter sniffing round and seeing him. No, he has to stay here, for as long as it takes.'

Harry slapped his forehead. 'Speaking of reporters… I completely forgot to tell you – have you already read today's i_Prophet_/i?'

Scanning the surroundings for the newspaper, Hermione said, 'No, I was too busy fighting with Ron. Don't tell me Skeeter has -'

'Of course. Have a look for yourself. Took her a few days, but I suppose she was clever enough to wait until the news wasn't quite so fresh anymore. Now that people have got used to the idea of me becoming minister, she won't be stoned if she goes against me. Unfortunately,' he added with a grin.

He pulled the newspaper from his pocket. It looked a bit tattered and creased; obviously it had passed through many hands already.

After a quick look at the front page, Hermione stared at her friend, eyes blazing. 'That fucking bitch! What on earth can she be thinking – Potter pottering with the law? Sirius left you the place, for fuck's sake! There was a testament, it's all legal! Besides, you haven't entered that house since-'

'Since I accompanied Narcissa, which means roughly twenty years ago. I haven't set foot into no.12, Grimmauld Place in two decades. And I certainly didn't know the property was entailed to the male heir.'

'Well,' Hermione said, rising from her chair to get more coffee, 'Try to look at the bright side.'

'You amaze me. I hadn't realized there was a bright side to being falsely accused of cheating the Ministry out of a property that ought to have fallen to them, for lack of a male heir.'

Returning to the table with their two mugs, Hermione wagged her head. 'Yes and no. It's bad, I'll give you that. But if she's found a bone to chew on, there's a good chance she won't be looking for another one anytime soon.' She nodded in the direction of the guest room. 'So maybe we'll be able to deal with Snape in peace.'

'Maybe.' He blew on his coffee. 'But it's strange, isn't it, how suddenly the old times seem to come back to haunt us. The Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and now the house. If I were writing a cheap detective novel, I'd have the detective say that it's all got to be related in some way.'

'I can't quite see how it would be,' Hermione said. 'But you're right, it i_is_ /istrange.'

o

As soon as he emerged from the bathroom, still feeling vaguely embarrassed, Severus heard voices from the kitchen. The female voice definitely belonged to Hermione, but he wasn't quite sure about identity of the man she was talking to. Too many years had gone by; he thought he might've recognized the male voice as Potter's, but he might just as well be mistaken. Well, there was only one way to find out. He'd have to face Potter and Weasley sooner or later, so why not get it over with as quickly as possible?

Potter and Granger, no, Hermione were studying the newspaper, heads bent over the kitchen table, when he entered the kitchen.

Hermione was the first to notice him. 'Good morning,' she said, a little too brightly for her apparent good humour to be entirely sincere. 'Did you sleep well?'

He decided to play along and observe. 'Like a baby, as befits a newborn. Is there any chance of coffee?'

Potter got up, pushing his glasses up his nose. He'd grown to be as tall as his former teacher; the gangly clumsiness Severus remembered was gone. He was still wiry, but his movements had acquired a certain elegance.

'Professor Snape,' he said, extending his hand and grinning awkwardly. 'Welcome back.'

Shaking the proffered hand, Severus did his best to be polite. Hermione had told him Potter had changed; for the time being, he'd take her word for it. And he certainly didn't mind if wonderboy called him Professor – surely not a sign of belated respect, but at least the pup hadn't forgotten that Severus had once been his teacher.

'Mr Potter.'

'Our new celebrity,' Harry finished the sentence. His grin became broader. 'You still have the same voice. The hair's better, though.'

Biting her lip to prevent herself from giggling, Hermione gestured Severus to an unoccupied chair. 'Black or white?'

'Last time I checked, it was black,' Severus said.

'Your coffee, Severus, not your hair. It's black, if a bit cleaner than I remember it.'

'Black please, no sugar. Of course it's clean, I just showered.'

Harry cocked his head. 'It used to be oily, back before… While you were teaching at Hogwarts.'

'There's no need to tiptoe around the delicate issue, Mr Potter. Before I died.' He frowned up at Harry. 'I had to protect my hair, or I would've gone bald in no time. Potion fumes tend to be on the corrosive side at the best of times, not to mention the decidedly bad times, when the likes of Neville Longbottom produce fumes that are downright toxic.'

'Oh.' Harry looked slightly mortified, but not too much. 'And we thought-'

'i_You_ /ithought,' Hermione corrected him. She put a mug of coffee in front of Severus. 'Would you like some toast? Cereals? Eggs?'

'Toast, please. Eggs sound nice, though… You thought what? That my personal hygiene was somewhat poor?'

'Poached or scrambled?' she asked, paying little heed to Severus's indignation. 'That's what I told the boys, by the way. It was just your hair that looked neglected, you didn't smell or anything.'

'Scrambled I think. And could we please regard the topic of my personal grooming habits as exhausted?'

Harry snorted and plopped down on the chair next to Severus's. 'Agreed. We have more important matters to discuss. Who brought you back, Professor, and why?'

Trying not to be distracted by the aroma of butter sizzling in a frying pan, Severus closed his eyes and kneaded the bridge of his nose. 'I'm not going to answer that one, Potter.'

'So you think you have to protect the person that brought you back from the consequences of his or her action.' Harry crossed his arms and leaned forward. 'You might want to consider that this person didn't commit a crime, though. But we need to know who found the ring, and whether it's still in their possession. We need to learn more about their motives. And' – he pushed up his glasses – 'we need to know how you became solid again.'

'As I said,' Severus replied slowly, 'I don't have any intention to reveal that person's identity, and I don't have the first idea about their motives, although I'm sure that the ring was being used without criminal intent. As far as my newfound solidity is concerned, I don't see why I ought to make it a secret: Dumbledore's portrait gave me the information I needed.'

Over buttered toast and coffee, he told the story of his arrival at Hogwarts, the ghosts' efforts to help him, the recruitment of Kreacher and Winky and Dumbledore's useful advice.

'I obliviated both Winky and Kreacher,' Hermione added with a moue of disgust. 'It had to be done – the ghosts will keep their silence, though, as will Minerva.'

Harry had taken a slice of toast, which he was currently plucking apart, strewing the table with crumbs. He seemed to be deep in thought.

'I still don't understand,' he finally said, green eyes focusing on Severus, 'why you're insisting on protecting that person. They brought you back and left you… More than a ghost and less than a living human…'

Severus put down his piece of toast to stab his index finger in Harry's direction. 'You seem to know a lot about bringing people back from the dead.'

'From personal experience,' Harry said tonelessly. 'Maybe I'll tell you… some time… You let me see your memories, that calls for repayment of some kind, doesn't it?'

'Don't get sentimental, Potter. I didn't give you my memories out of the goodness of my heart, or because I wanted you to understand or, heaven forbid, absolve me of my heinous crimes! You needed the information about Dumbledore's plan, and since the old man hadn't seen fit to give it to you while still alive, I had to offer my memories instead. Merlin knows I didn't like the thought of you witnessing moments I'd rather forget!'

'I didn't forgive you,' Harry said quietly. 'Not right away. I still hated your guts, but… It's difficult to describe, you know? I felt as if you'd grabbed my head with both hands and forced me to look where I'd never looked before. It was brutal, and very, very unpleasant. But even though I've never quite managed to understand you, I saw that you were as much a victim as I'd been, all the time. To think that I actually told Dumbledore that I forgave him…'

Although not an empathizing kind of person, Severus nevertheless had to admit that he sympathized. 'Even as a portrait, he's still a first rate manipulator.'

'Oh, I didn't talk to his portrait – well, I did, but only after fighting Voldemort. What I was referring to was a conversation we had before that, in a strange place, limbo maybe.'

'What did it look like?' Severus asked, drawn into the conversation despite himself.

'King's Cross station. Funny, isn't it?'

'It always assumes the shape that best expresses your feelings,' Severus muttered glumly. 'And you always meet the people you need to meet, though I-' He fell silent when he felt a hand touching his shoulder.

'I don't want to interrupt you boys reminiscing,' Hermione said, 'But please remember that we've got things to do.'

She put a plate heaped with scrambled eggs in front of Severus, pushed the toast rack and butter dish closer to him, sat down and stared at the two men.

Before Severus could start protesting that, whatever his current age, he refused to be addressed as 'boy', and most strongly objected to being thrown into that category together with Potter, Harry raised a hand. 'Don't even try, Professor. I've witnessed her calling the Head of Mysteries and Kingsley Shacklebolt "boys". There's nothing you can do about it. Duck your head and wait till it's over. Besides, she's right. We've got to get moving. I hope you're aware' – he pushed up his glasses and glared at Severus – 'that if you refuse to break your silence and tell us who brought you back, we'll have to investigate on our own?'

'i_I'll_ /ibe investigating on i_my_ /iown. You stay out of this, Harry. There's nothing to be won and everything to be lost, if you get involved. Besides, you ought to concentrate on Skeeter's smear campaign – there's nothing I can do to help you with that.'

Snape and Harry exchanged a look of quite unexpected solidarity. The camaraderie born from shared oppression.

'I suppose,' Severus said pointedly, 'that you expect me to stay put here for the duration of your, er, investigation.'

'Exactly. Feel free to use my library and move around the house. Stay away from the living room fireplace, though. We don't want you to be seen by anybody who calls by Floo, now do we?'

'We don't,' Severus answered placidly. Scrambled eggs buttered to within an inch of their life seemed to take the sting out of almost everything.

Hermione nodded, curly hair bobbing. 'Very well. When we're finished here, I'll be off to do a bit of reading and interview my first suspect. Except' – she leaned forward until her nose almost touched Severus's – 'if you change your mind and decide to cooperate.'

Severus shook his head, trying hard not to smirk. He certainly didn't envy that first suspect, whoever he or she was.

o

Nobody would have been surprised if Hermione, who'd taken two weeks of vacation, had shown up at her office in spite of being on holiday. But today was a Saturday, and it was also three days before Christmas. The Ministry building was deserted but for a few bored Law Enforcers patrolling the corridors between rounds of suspiciously alcoholic-smelling tea. But this suited Hermione just fine. She made a mental note to read them the riot act later though, because she didn't approve of drinking on duty.

She'd gone down to the archives first, to get the files she meant to read, and then retreated to her office.

Severus's file was on her desk; she intended to go through it at another time. Right now, she was interested in finding a weak spot in her prime suspect.

Looking up from her reading for a moment, to stare out of the window and allow her eyes a short rest – dictoquills imitated the user's handwriting, and this one was difficult to decipher, and she wasn't getting any younger – Hermione retraced her mental steps, prodding and probing each of them for consistency.

Whoever had brought back Severus Snape from the dead met two criteria: Firstly, he or she had to know about the Resurrection Stone, and secondly, he or she had to have some kind of interest in Snape being alive.

When she'd first discussed the matter about a week ago in her office with Harry, they'd both suspected Ron. It wasn't something she was proud of, neither in terms of professional capability nor of loyalty to her husband, but it had taken them almost an hour of desperate speculation until inspiration finally struck – the group of suspects was by no means limited to the three of them.

Harry had told Dumbledore's portrait about having left the Stone in the Forbidden Forest, and they'd been surrounded by the portraits of former headmasters and -mistresses of Hogwarts. The portraits were known for their gossiping, and, as if that wasn't enough to drive an investigator to desperation, the three friends hadn't really paid attention to their surroundings: it was entirely possible that they'd been overheard by any of the hundreds of people present at the castle, whether friend or foe, without being aware of the eavesdropper.

As far as the inquiry was concerned, this wasn't good news, but both Hermione and Harry had been too relieved for Ron's sake to be overly concerned with the sudden increase in possible suspects.

Apart from clearing Ron of any remaining suspicion, which had fallen on him merely by default, the fact that their revenant now had an identity made things a bit easier. Had it been someone with lots of friends and family – Fred or Tonks for example – the number of people who had an interest in seeing them alive and hence became suspects would have been very large indeed.

Severus Snape, however, seemed to make things a lot simpler.

If one excluded the possibility of somebody wrenching him from death's embrace, merely to kill him all over again, that is.

But since he'd been left alone and shadowy – not a fit state to be killed in – after being brought back, Hermione had decided to discard that rather gruesome hypothesis for the time being. The theory that he'd been intentionally left as he was, half-alive and helpless, did have a ring of cruel plausibility. But that, too, would have to wait. In order to achieve a result, you had to work through your assumptions one by one.

Right now, Hermione's working hypothesis was that it had to be a friend, and that postulation narrowed her list down to only a handful of people, one of them her prime suspect.

The fact that the man was as slippery as the proverbial eel did nothing to make her look forward to the task of interviewing him. Then again, she told herself with a grim smile curling her lips, she was sure she'd found a weak point.

And that was all she needed to deal with Lucius Malfoy.

o

Apart from a few timid flakes, there hadn't been any snow this year in the south of England – white Christmases seemed to belong to the realm of fairy tales and Christmas carols anyway. In spite of the bitingly cold wind, the evergreen hedges framing the driveway that led up to the manor still gave an illusion of summer. It was quiet in this enclosure of leaves, and a little warmer too, because the densely interwoven branches effectively shielded the gravelled path from the strong gusts that ripped the last brown leaves off the trees.

Hermione had decided to pay Malfoy an unannounced, impromptu visit – walking up to the Manor from the entrance gate, where callers had to state their identity, would take her a few minutes anyway, and that was more than enough time for her suspect to polish an alibi he'd probably constructed long before he'd actually carried out his plan.

She'd briefly toyed with the idea of giving a false identity and thus really surprising him, but then had thought better of it. Malfoy's lawyers were bloodhounds, ready to pick up the tiniest of trails by which to hunt down their prey. Her mission was already legally debatable; she had no intention to hand him the rope by which he could hang her. Not that she expected he'd dare to after their talk. But if you decided to take on Lucius Malfoy, you'd better develop a healthy paranoia. It was a kind of natural defence mechanism.

The wind almost blew her off her feet when she emerged from the sheltered green corridor. The short distance she had to cover from there to the door was enough to chill her to her bones. Although she was most assuredly an unwelcome guest, the door swung open when her foot had barely touched the topmost step, and shut behind her immediately.

A House Elf, clad in an immaculately white tea towel – the impression of dignified respectability was slightly marred by the wreath of tinsel perching atop its hairless skull – took her cloak and led her to a small room that didn't quite deserve to be called a salon. Hermione had hoped, against all hope, to be admitted to the library and felt more than a little disappointed at having to take a seat in what she supposed to be the Unwanted Visitors' Closet.

The Malfoy library had become the object of her dreams when she'd started working for the Ministry as a junior Law Enforcer. Like the rest of the manor, the library had been subject to numerous searches after the war, and Hermione's senior colleagues had been more than willing to share stories about the wonders it contained. Although most of them were likely exaggerated, she'd always been convinced that, where there was such a lot of smoke, there had to be a fire of at least respectable dimensions.

Her bibliophile equivalent of a wet dream was interrupted by the Lord of the Manor entering the room.

They shook hands and exchanged a few pleasantries – Hermione was convinced that, like herself, Malfoy was going through the motions on autopilot, while dissecting every tiniest of her movements in an attempt to gather information.

She'd seen him rarely but regularly these last years. In the beginning, after the war, she'd frequently encountered him in the Ministry's corridors, escorted by Aurors or Law Enforcers, first bound and wandless, later with his hands free to grasp his cane. After a few years of impeccable conduct, the Ministry's interest in the former Death Eater had notably decreased, and he'd begun to reappear at social events. She'd met him at a number of those, but they'd never done more than exchange polite greetings and a few words of small talk.

Slightly baffled, because she'd expected feigned surprise or at least chilly civility, Hermione realized that Malfoy was merely angry, to the point of losing his temper.

Sitting down in a fashion that clearly spoke of his intention to get up again as soon as possible, he said, 'I'm afraid I won't be able to stay with you for long, Madam Weasley. I am sure you understand – who wouldn't wish to be with their family at this time of year?'

'Of course, Mr Malfoy. Prolonged absence from one's nearest and dearest is such a depressing thing, isn't it?'

She had learned how to be diplomatic, but was still capable of astonishing tactlessness, if the occasion demanded it. Trying to out-sleaze Malfoy was like attempting to out-swim a shark; you could never win and were highly likely to be eaten. But all his weapons were subtle and pointed – excellent for fencing, but of little use when he was attacked with a sledgehammer. And he was already annoyed. Her less than subtle allusion to his sojourn in Azkaban was bound to irritate him even more.

And so it did. 'I daresay,' he said, lips thin with fury, 'that this is not a social call. Whatever news the Department of Magical Law Enforcement seems to be so impatient to convey to me can surely wait until after the holidays?'

Hermione gave him her most insincere, sweetish smile and lifted her hands, palms up, to indicate helpless sympathy. 'If that were the case, rest assured I wouldn't have come to disturb the peace of your home so shortly before Christmas. I wish I were able to tell you that this will only take five minutes, but… I'm afraid you'll have to give me more than five minutes of your precious time.'

He wasn't wearing his cane, she noticed; his right hand briefly strayed towards his left sleeve before returning to its previous position on the armrest of his chair. The fingers dug into the upholstery, then gradually relaxed.

So the anger was still there, Hermione was sure, but he'd understood that he'd better shove it aside for the moment. The first round had gone to her, but she knew better than to think she'd won the fight.

'Very well,' he said. 'I shall stay as long as you need me.'

Hermione pointed at the door. 'A privacy charm might not be a bad idea.'

His eyebrows rose. 'Madam Weasley, this seems a little exaggerated. Or do you intend to recruit me for the Intelligence Agency? In that case, the answer is no, so we won't need a privacy charm.'

'I had no idea that your dedication to the good cause ran deep enough to even consider the possibility. I'll make sure to tell Kingsley.' The flicker of amusement in his eyes died when she leaned forward and said, 'Cast that charm, Mr Malfoy.'

His wand already raised, Malfoy paused to ask, 'Do I need a lawyer?'

'I don't think so. The presence of a third person would make an already complex matter even more complicated.'

He shrugged and cast the charm, then settled back into his chair and crossed his arms. 'Well, what unspeakable crime am I supposed to have committed?'

It was merely a rhetorical question, and she didn't bother to answer it. 'Who told you about the Resurrection Stone, and why did you bring back Severus Snape?'

During the long pause that followed her question, Hermione's eyes didn't leave Malfoy's face. He may be a slippery bastard and a tolerably good actor, but even he was unable to dissimulate telltale signs like the acceleration of his heartbeat or the imperceptible widening of his pupils.

But his pulse didn't go any faster than before, and his eyes remained the same. Hermione began to feel slightly disconcerted.

'Madam Weasley,' he finally said, 'you were right: this situation doesn't necessitate the presence of a lawyer. But I'm afraid I may have to call a mediwizard.'

'Don't worry, my first aid skills are second to none.'

'I wasn't referring to myself. Are you sure you are feeling quite well? Would you like a glass of water, maybe? I really can think of better things to do at Christmas than explaining to the authorities why you went mad in my house, of all places.'

Feeling as if she'd received a blow to the stomach, Hermione exhaled and leaned back into the reassuring solidity of the chair. 'You really didn't do it, did you?'

'Do what exactly, Madam Weasley?'

'Resurrect Severus Snape,' she said tonelessly.

Had she been capable off feeling satisfaction at that moment, she'd have gloated at Lucius Malfoy. For once deprived of his considerable rhetorical skills and presence of mind, he merely stared at her and said slowly, 'You aren't going mad… you really mean it, don't you? Severus is – but how?'

She'd won this round as well, and she'd be damned if she didn't make the most of her adversary being helplessly sprawled at her feet.

'Why don't we continue this discussion in the library?' Hermione said with a devious smile.

o


	7. Chapter 2 Part 3

Apparently Severus Snape's return to life was good news for Malfoy

Apparently Severus Snape's return to life was good news for Malfoy. The messenger wasn't killed – not even metaphorically – but politely asked to the library, where the Lord of the Manor summoned a House Elf to order afternoon tea. Though still on her guard, Hermione awarded herself extra points for good timing, when platter after platter of delectable little somethings appeared on the table.

They only resumed their discussion when tea had been served and the elf dismissed.

'So Severus is alive?' Malfoy had evidently regained his self-control, although Hermione wasn't quite sure whether this was a good thing.

It probably wasn't, but she would have bet a year's income – Ron's, not hers, there was no need to go overboard with optimism – that his total bafflement had not been an act. He'd recovered nicely, but then she still hadn't played her trump card. If you decided you'd have a game of poker with Malfoy, it always paid to have an extra ace up your sleeve.

'He is alive,' she said, 'and currently staying at my house. You can probably imagine the bureaucratic hurdles we'll have to jump, in order to re-establish his identity and get back his assets.' She could almost see the cogwheels in his brain turning at maximum speed and decided to make use of his temporary distraction. 'I am ready to believe that you weren't the one to bring him back, but I'd like to make sure that you weren't involved in any way, either.'

Delicately stirring his tea, to which he'd added a single cube of sugar, Malfoy gave her a calculating look. 'There is only one way to make sure, Madam Weasley.'

'I am aware that there is only one way. I therefore ask your permission to administer a small dose of Veritaserum.'

Now he looked as if he'd expected a strawberry-flavoured Bertie Bott's Bean but got vomit-flavoured instead. 'My dear lady, I hope you are also aware that this is preposterous.'

'Is it?' Hermione carefully added a splash of milk to her tea and made a show of stirring the mixture. 'I'm sure you don't like the idea, Mr Malfoy, but wouldn't it be in your best interest to prove, once and for all, that you have nothing to do with the matter?'

'As far as I can see,' Malfoy replied calmly, scanning the array of sandwiches, 'bringing people back from the dead is not a criminal act. I would have to check with my lawyers, of course…'

'Do as you please. I would advise you to keep in mind, however, that, at least for the time being, this is not an official inquiry. Wouldn't it be infinitely preferable for you to be eliminated from the list of possible suspects before it becomes official?'

'My conscience is clear. What reason would I have to shun an official inquiry?'

'I can think of at least one.'

Malfoy looked up from his plate, on which he'd placed a salmon canapé and a cucumber sandwich, and slightly cocked his head. 'You make me curious.'

Time for the hidden ace to come out of her sleeve.

'I'll take that as a compliment,' Hermione said dryly and selected a few mouth-watering-looking pastries filled with cheese and ham. 'Look at it this way, Mr Malfoy: If I decide to pull rank with the Minister – and rest assured that I will – this is going to be my case. Due to the rather, erm, unique nature of this business, I will of course have to use Veritaserum in order to ensure that none of the suspects is lying.'

The grey eyes narrowed a fraction. 'I begin to understand.'

Hermione smiled thinly. 'I don't doubt it. Questioning suspects, or witnesses as the case may be, is a subtle art. One has to ask all kinds of questions, not all of them pertinent to the case… Not that you would receive any i_special_ /itreatment, Mr Malfoy, in whichever sense you choose to interpret the term "special", but…'

'Enough!' he hissed. 'This is the most ham-handed attempt at blackmail I've ever had the displeasure to witness.'

'Aesthetics aren't everything. I was rather aiming at effectiveness.'

Malfoy put his plate back on the table, crossed his arms and regarded her with hooded eyes. 'If you asked me questions concerning my past allegiances, I could make sure that you'll be unable to use my answers against me.'

'Could you? I wouldn't be so sure. Harry's going to be the next Minister for Magic. I can delay things for a few months – one of the undeniable advantages of bureaucracy – and now recalculate your chances of thwarting justice, replacing Shacklebolt with Harry.'

To her surprise, he smiled. 'You have become something of a strategist, Madam Weasley.'

'Honestly, I'd much prefer not to use this kind of tactics. If it's any comfort to you, I had to spend hours poring over your files, until I found out that none of your statements after the war had been made under Veritaserum. And to tell you the truth, I'm still wondering how exactly you managed that.'

The smile, which had lent a modicum of warmth to Malfoy's grey eyes, retreated until it was nothing more than a slight upward curve of his lips. 'Everybody has their little secrets, Madam Weasley.'

'Even Kingsley?'

'Oh yes, even Kingsley. Besides, the statements I made weren't i_that_ /ifar from the truth.'

'You mean your wife i_did_ /iput you under Imperius?'

'It's been a very long time.' He shrugged. 'The human psyche is a complex and miraculous thing – would you believe it, I really don't remember anymore.'

'I certainly wouldn't. But that's neither here nor there.' Hermione drained her cup. 'So, are you going to accept my offer?'

'I wasn't aware you had made me an offer,' he said, passing her the teapot.

'I didn't want to be unsubtle, but I'm certainly willing to make it more explicit: If you allow me to dose you with Veritaserum here and now, and thus enable me to make sure you were in no way involved in bringing Severus back, I give you my word that you'll neither appear on the list of suspects, should this ever turn into an official Law Enforcement case, nor will you in any way be molested, questioned or else drawn into the procedures.'

Malfoy didn't answer immediately. Hermione passed the time looking around the library – there was at least as much fire as there'd been smoke. The library was phenomenal. She wished she could find a pretext to come back.

When Malfoy finally spoke, the sound of his voice made her jump; she'd been mentally calculating whether her life would be long enough to read each and every of the thousands of tomes in the room.

'I'm not a gambler by nature,' he said. 'If I was, I would bank on Severus's case never becoming an official inquiry. The odds don't seem too promising, though.' He sighed and straightened his cuffs. 'You, Madam Weasley, may be known for your integrity. I, however, am also well aware of your ruthlessness – I therefore don't believe that you would bother uttering empty threats. I accept your offer. Let me tell you though' – he bent forward, his eyes boring into hers – 'that, should you break your promise, I am well able to make you regret it. Regardless of Potter being the next minister.'

Trying to mask the frisson evoked by Malfoy's last words, Hermione sat up a little straighter. 'It seems we have a deal. Do you take your Veritaserum with tea or undiluted?'

He raised a lazy hand. 'Two drops in a glass of vintage cognac sounds delightful, doesn't it? Maybe you'd like to join me?'

o

Although not given to the regular consumption of alcohol, Hermione was able to recognize a really good brandy. This one was excellent.

She carefully measured two drops of Veritaserum into Malfoy's tumbler after he'd locked the library and activated wards the legality of which she sincerely doubted.

When they'd taken their seats, she put aside her glass. 'I'm not going to take notes, as you see. I expect you to keep this conversation between the two of us, and I give you my word that nothing you or I say from now on will ever appear in any official or unofficial file. Is that good enough for you?'

The grey of his irises had almost disappeared – a sign that the truth serum had taken effect.

'I demand that you keep this conversation a secret, just as I will,' Malfoy said. 'Things have a way of getting around, even if they're not written down anywhere.'

'Believe me, I will. You know as well as I do that what I'm doing now isn't exactly conform to Law Enforcement procedures.'

'But you will of course try to make me spill enough of my own little secrets to ensure my inability to use that against you.'

'Of course. I thought you might appreciate the balance of power.'

'Appreciate is not the word I would have chosen. But I have to admit that facing a worthy opponent is always a pleasure.'

'Thank you.' She glanced at her watch. 'We have half an hour, so I'd better start asking my questions.'

Trying not to notice that Malfoy looked a good deal more attractive as he was now, relaxed and a little light-headed under the influence of the drug, she pulled herself together and concentrated on the important aspects of Severus Snape's return to life.

'Mr Malfoy, have you ever heard or read, or been informed in any other way, about the existence of a magical object called the Resurrection Stone?'

A frown line appearing between his brows, he replied, 'No, I certainly haven't.'

'Very well. Let me put the question differently: Do you know of any way to bring people back from the dead?'

'I don't.'

'Does the term "Deathly Hallows" mean anything to you?'

'Interesting though it sounds, no, it doesn't.'

'How do you feel about Severus being alive?'

Considering that Malfoy evidently had no idea about the Stone and the rest of the Hallows, this question was more or less redundant. But Hermione planned to enlist Malfoy's help in case he was innocent – he had connections she didn't, after all – and thus needed to know where exactly he stood.

To her surprise, he smiled. A real smile, not the sneer he usually reserved for lesser mortals.

'I still can't believe it, but it's certainly a pleasure.'

'A pleasure? Are you friends?'

Hermione watched him intently for signs of struggling against the urge to tell the truth. He wasn't fighting the Veritaserum, though, but merely searching for words.

'Friends… That would surely depend on how you define the term "friends", Madam Weasley. I genuinely like Severus, and we go back a long time.' He threw a strand of hair back over his shoulder. 'Of course, there was a time when I hated him.'

The game of question and answer was becoming more fascinating by the second. Hermione had often wondered if a person such as Lucius Malfoy was capable of love or affection. She'd seen him after the battle of Hogwarts; his frantic search for Draco had convinced her that he loved his son. Then again, she'd seen him with his wife and been certain that he loved her, too; the way he'd sacrificed Narcissa though, in order to save his own hide, had considerably shaken that belief.

'How do you feel about Severus now? Do you still hate him?'

'No,' Lucius said pensively, 'no, that is a thing of the past. Maybe "hate" isn't the right word to describe my feelings back then. Envy would probably come closer.'

'Envy? Did you envy him because he'd become headmaster?'

'Don't be ridiculous!' he snarled.

Hermione glared. 'Explain yourself then!'

Malfoy sighed. 'After I had been released from Azkaban, Narcissa told me all about the Unbreakable Vow. I was sure then that Severus wasn't Voldemort's but Dumbledore's agent. The year that followed… Severus didn't have an easy job, but I had to live under the same roof with Voldemort and that bitch Bellatrix. Constantly under surveillance, without a wand, powerless in my own house. Believe me, I would have gone over to the other side then, but it was impossible. Not with my son as Voldemort's pawn. I was convinced your side was going to win eventually, but there was no way I could possibly give a hint to anybody that my allegiances had changed.'

'Hmm…' She scrutinized her vis-à-vis, noticing the quickening of his pulse in the throbbing vein at his temple. 'But with Dumbledore dead, there was no way for Severus to prove his true loyalties, either. So why exactly did you envy him?'

'Because I was sure that the Order knew. I was absolutely certain he'd be able to leave this mess behind and come out of it smelling of roses, whereas I was going to lose everything and spend the rest of my life in Azkaban.'

'I see. Well, you got past that problem quite admirably.'

He grinned. 'Yes, didn't I?'

She simply couldn't resist. Besides she i_did_ /ineed a bit of blackmail material. 'Do you regret having sacrificed your wife to save your reputation?'

'Why would I? I told you, I may have exaggerated a little, but I didn't go that far beyond the truth.'

'So what did Narcissa do to deserve how you treated her?'

'She…' Now he i_was_ /istruggling, but to no avail. 'She was more loyal to that madwoman Bellatrix than to her husband and son. She refused to even try and appeal to her sister – if Bella had put in a word with the Dark Lord, or at least consented to look the other way, I could have obtained a wand, I could have…' He fell silent, breathing heavily.

Hermione decided to leave it at that. Time was passing, and she had all the information necessary to keep Malfoy quiet. And she needed a few more answers.

'I am planning to keep the business with Severus a secret until I've found out who brought him back and what their motives were. Would you be willing to help me with my search?'

'I don't quite see how I could help you, but I am certainly willing to assist, if I can.'

'Thank you. I'm going to tell you more about it later. For now, I need you to tell me who, in your opinion, might have an interest in Severus being alive.'

A look of concentration on his face, Malfoy kneaded the bridge of his nose between thumb and index finger. 'That largely depends on the motive, I daresay. He died a horrible death, but that doesn't exclude the possibility of somebody wanting to bring him back to torture or kill him. Then, there's the handful of people who liked him.'

'Your son?'

'Yes, Draco was very fond of Severus and inconsolable when he died. Narcissa always had a soft spot for him. A few students from his own house, probably. A few members of the Order, too, I suppose, once they understood why he did what he did.'

Hermione nodded. 'That's about the group Harry and I came up with.'

She glanced at her watch. Two minutes left. She swallowed and tried to persuade herself that she didn't really want to hear the answer to the question she was burning to ask. It was unprofessional, and if his reply was anything like she expected it to be, she'd have trouble working with the man. But it was better to know the truth, wasn't it? She took a deep breath.

'One more question, Mr Malfoy. What do you think of me?'

Instead of contemptuous, as she'd anticipated, his expression turned slightly predatory.

'You're a highly intriguing woman, Madam Weasley.'

Dumbfounded, Hermione shook her head. 'I don't quite understand. What do you mean by intriguing?'

Malfoy chuckled. 'You are tough, professional, and so very uptight. Almost puritan, really. Extremely clever and ruthless, I believe I already said that. A worthy adversary. Probably also a worthy ally. But I'd…'

She only had less than a minute left. The way he was trying not to speak was goading her curiosity even further. 'You would what, Mr Malfoy?'

'I'd like to fuck you senseless, Madam Weasley. See if that prissy, prickly demeanour is all there is to you – I don't believe it is. I'd like to…' He covered his eyes with his hands, free now of the truth serum's influence but obviously mortified. 'You had no right to…'

Grateful for the diversion, which allowed her to disregard his words at least for the moment, Hermione interrupted him. 'I certainly have a right to know what you think of me. Although' – her eyes briefly met his, but she immediately looked away – 'I would have expected something along the lines of Mudblood…'

Malfoy shrugged. 'A thing of the past.'

'Obviously,' she said dryly. 'Well, Mr Malfoy, I daresay this is as good a moment as any other to finish our conversation. May I take you up on your offer of assistance and come back to discuss the next steps at a more convenient time?'

'I'd be delighted.'

Was she imagining the slightly lecherous inflection, or was he really inferring… Well, she'd better overlook it. 'Which day would suit you?' Hermione asked, rising from her chair.

Mirroring her movement, he got up as well. 'Boxing Day, maybe? Draco and his family will leave for France in the early morning. So you'll be most welcome to pay me a visit in the afternoon, unless your own family duties don't allow it, of course.'

Given Ron's current mood and the likely unpleasant outcome of the family get-together on Christmas Day, Hermione imagined she'd be all too grateful to escape for a few hours on the 26th.

'Boxing Day is fine with me. Would three p.m. be all right?'

He nodded and took her outstretched hand. For a moment, she was afraid he might kiss it, but she merely got a firm handshake.

It was a relief, so where did that vague sense of disappointment come from?

o

Ron was conspicuously absent for the next days. When he wasn't at work – he hadn't signed up for a vacation until New Year's day, when Rose and Hugo were due to arrive at Tinworth together with the three Potter children – he alternately pleaded Christmas shopping duties, babysitting obligations and pre-Christmas celebrations with colleagues.

Thus left to her own devices, Hermione found herself spending more time with her house guest than she'd intended.

'Are you sure you don't want to come to Harry's place tomorrow?' she asked, while they were sharing a companionable late afternoon tea on Christmas Eve. 'I know what you're going to say, but I dislike the idea of you being all on your own, while everybody else is coming together and celebrating. I could alter your appearance, so nobody would recognize you.'

From his kneeling position in front of the fireplace, where he was attempting to toast crumpets, Severus looked at her over his shoulder. 'Don't be ridiculous. Christmas doesn't mean anything to me, and I'd be grateful for a little time on my own.'

Far from taking offence, Hermione sighed. 'I sincerely sympathize. A bit of me-time is hard to come by.'

'The problem is,' Severus said, redirecting his attention to the crumpet that was in danger of carbonization, 'that the things you desire come to you at the most inappropriate moments. I remember the year before my death – more than enough time on my own, believe me, when I would've given anything for somebody to talk to.'

'I imagine that must have been the hardest part, going through with a plan of the outcome of which you couldn't be sure…' She looked at his crouched form, resting her cheek on her palm. 'What do you think you'd have done, if Voldemort hadn't killed you that night?'

'Idle speculation,' he muttered.

'Yes, but interesting all the same. Would you have stayed at Hogwarts?'

Severus got up and flipped a half-burned crumpet onto her plate. 'You're not seriously considering I would have, are you?'

'Hmm, yes and no. I know how difficult and, well, frightening change can be. I mean, you had spent more than half your life at Hogwarts, almost three quarters, if you include your time as a student. It had to be something like home.'

'You seriously overestimate the positive connotations of "home",' he said. 'Whatever home I've ever had, whether Hogwarts or Spinner's End, it was a place I wanted to leave, not somewhere I felt safe or, Merlin help, wanted.'

'And now Ron is doing his best to make you feel unwanted here,' she said, more to herself than to him, while absentmindedly buttering her blackened crumpet.

'He certainly goes out of his way to demonstrate his utter revulsion at having to live under the same roof.'

'I'm sorry,' Hermione said, suddenly feeling the urge to cry. 'He's being such a pain in the arse, and I…' She shrugged, leaving the sentence unfinished.

'You don't have to apologize. But I wish you'd tell me more about your… well, quest.'

'Why should I?' she snapped back. 'You refuse to help me, so what's it to you?'

Severus sighed, shoulders slumping forward. 'You're taking this personally. But try to look at it from my point of view: Sooner or later you'll have to come clear, tell the Ministry what happened. What if they decide that bringing me back was illegal? I can't risk endangering… whoever it was by betraying their identity.'

'Severus, we've been over this a hundred times already. Apart from the fact that I don't buy your argument for not telling me – don't glare like that, I'm sure you need to keep that little secret, so you don't feel quite as powerless.'

She gave him a thin smile. Severus pursed his lips and stared into the fire.

'But even if you meant it,' she continued, 'I still believe that my point of view is more valid. There's less danger of things going pear-shaped if I present the Ministry with a complete case file, including the name and motives of the… you can't even say culprit, of the person who did it. You said yourself that you doubted there was any criminal intent. If I can prove that without a doubt, what reason would Kingsley have to turn it into a criminal case?'

'The fact that there might be other such cases in the future is reason enough, don't you think?'

'Not if I manage to find the Stone and destroy it, once and for all.'

'The Stone…' Severus gazed into the fire, lost in thought.

'How come so few wizards ever heard about the Deathly Hallows?' Hermione asked after a while. 'I imagined it was something like the Holy Grail – nobody knows where or what it really is, but everybody's heard about it.'

He didn't answer her question but continued to stare at the flames.

He was already looking a lot better than when she'd found him at Hogwarts. Only three days had gone by, but he was regaining his strength fast, filling out quite nicely. Looking at him as the adult she now was (although she still couldn't quite cope with the fact that she was older, if only by three years), she wondered how she could ever have found him ugly. Well, he i_was_ /iugly, but in a rather attractive kind of way. He had character, there was no denying that, and he was pretty clever. He also possessed a wicked sense of humour. And it was hard to think of all he'd gone through and not feel sympathy, as well as respect.

'Are you still in love with Lily?'

She hadn't been aware of asking the question aloud; only when he turned sharply to glare at her did she notice that she'd actually spoken the words.

'Mind your own business,' he snapped.

Considering that she'd expected him to jump up from his seat and leave the room, this was a rather mild reprimand.

'I'm not very good at minding my own business. Professional hazard, I guess.'

'And sticking your nose into other people's private lives makes it so much easier to forget your own problems.'

Now it was her turn to glare. 'What makes you think I'm having problems?'

'Think? It's fairly obvious, I daresay.'

'Eavesdropping,' she hissed, 'is beneath even you!'

'I'm prepared to overlook the "even", Madam Weasley. But believe me, you and your husband are conducting your arguments in a fashion that makes eavesdropping quite superfluous.'

'You have no right-'

'My feelings for Lily Evans are as much my own business as your marriage is yours. I don't welcome your nosing around any more than you are prepared to discuss your difficulties with me. So kindly stop intruding. This discussion is over.'

'Have it your way then,' Hermione huffed, throwing her napkin on the table. 'I thought-'

'You thought what? That we had become friends, because you dragged me into your house, where I'm about as welcome as the plague? That I'm so deeply grateful for everything you're doing for me that I'm going to regale you with the tragic story of my life in return? Grow up, Hermione. This isn't how things work.'

He'd hit her right where it hurt. Her eyes were tearing up; she hated it but was powerless to stop it. 'How do things work then?' she snapped at him, 'How do two people become friends? By sharing, by giving and taking, by helping each other through rough times and enjoying the good times together! That's how it works, you… you moron! I have friends, and you don't – so who do you think is qualified to talk about friendship?'

'You don't have i_friends_/i,' he shot back, eyes blazing and cheeks flushed, 'you have sycophants! Faithful lapdogs, minions! You're a self-righteous tyrant, Miss Granger. You want things to go your way, and you bend them and twist them until they do. Is that what you call friendship?'

Hermione sat statue-like, trying to breathe through the shock and the pain. Surely the bastard had been using Legilimency on her – how else could he have found out about her deepest fears and put them into words which he'd flung at her like so many sharp-edged objects? Every self-doubt, every secret anxiety, brought out into the open by a man she barely knew… Suddenly nauseous, she got up, gripping the edge of the table so hard that her hands hurt.

'Excuse me,' she said shakily through lips that were so rigid she could barely move them. 'I have to…'

Her knees gave way, and she fell back into her chair.

'I apologize,' Severus said stiffly, visibly uncomfortable. 'That was, uh, out of line.'

Suddenly overcome with the urge to laugh, she pointed a wobbly finger at him and heard herself say, 'You should see your face!' while a voice in her head told her that she was having a nervous breakdown, or a hysterical fit, or whatever was the correct term for laughing and crying at the same time.

Severus got up from his chair and went over to crouch down on his haunches next to her. 'Are you all right, Hermione?'

'No, I'm not, you stupid idiot!' she said, dabbing at her cheeks with the napkin to wipe away the tears, and fighting the giggles that wanted out. 'You just said the most horrible things, how could I be all right?' She closed her eyes, but the laughter refused to go away, unfazed by the tears and the sudden headache. 'Malfoy found a much nicer way of saying more or less the same, you know?'

'Lucius? Lucius wouldn't dream of becoming that personal with-'

'Veritaserum,' she blurted out.

His eyes widened. 'You hadn't told me about that!'

'Of course not, that's supposed to remain dear Lucius's and my dirty little secret, you know? He said he wanted to fuck me senseless, because I'm so prissy and uptight.'

Severus winced. 'That's pretty crude.'

The laughter had turned into hiccoughs by now. 'Maybe, but – hick! – a lot nicer than what you sai-hick!-said to me!'

'You'd like to be fucked senseless by Lucius?' he inquired cautiously, feeling increasingly as if this was a strange dream that had begun while he'd eaten his crumpet. Maybe he was asleep right now, with his head in the butter dish…

'It – hick! – would be nice for a change. I – hick! – I've never been fucked senseless before in my life.'

It was like watching a Quidditch player crashing into the tribune; you ought to call for help or do something, but all you could do was stare in abject fascination.

'Never?'

'No. Have – hick! – have you?'

'N-not as such, no. Also, being fucked senseless seems to be a female prerogative.'

'Nonsense!' she said indignantly, blowing her nose with the napkin. 'Men can be fucked senseless just like women. It's merely a matter of the right technique. If, for instance-'

'Hermione,' he interrupted her, 'I think you ought to lie down and take some calming draught. You're not quite yourself, which is mostly my fault, and I do apologize. Come on,' he urged, inserting his hands under her armpits to hoist her out of her chair, 'let's put you on the sofa.'

He dragged her across the room, trying not to notice that his fingertips were brushing against the swell of her breasts.

When he'd finally manoeuvred her onto the couch, he bent down to take off her shoes. 'There, now. Have a nap, you'll feel better afterwards.'

Hermione grabbed his hand. 'I don't think I can sleep,' she murmured, eyelids already drooping. 'I'm sorry, Severus, I was being nasty…'

'But you were more or less right,' he sighed.

A smile made her cheeks dimple slightly. 'As were you. I'm a horrible person.'

'Yes, you are. But nicely horrible.' He clumsily patted her cheek.

'Silly…' was the last word she managed before falling asleep.

o

When James and Al Potter opened the door for her and Ron, Hermione thought – as she always did when she set eyes on Harry's children – that genetics was a tricky thing indeed.

Take her and Ron: There wasn't a red-haired relative in her family, they were all different shades of black or brown-haired, and yet Ron's hair colour had triumphed over her supposedly dominant genes. Both Rose and Hugo were redheads, complete with freckles and a tendency towards sunburns. The Potter boys, on the other hand, were both black-haired, in spite of the supposedly dominant combination of Ginny and her mother-in-law's red hair. Only Lily junior was red-haired, but the fortunate girl had inherited her namesake's auburn mane and emerald eyes.

Hermione had still been asleep on the couch when Ron came home the night before. The pre-Christmas do with his colleagues had evidently been more than just a pretext to stay away from his Snape-infested home; he'd been in an exceptionally good mood, which had outlasted the night and even breakfast.

Hermione and Severus hadn't talked much this morning, limiting themselves to the occasional probing glance – there seemed to be no resentment on his side, and Hermione, rather than angry, was still confused and more than a little embarrassed. It had been a cathartic experience, though, and she had a feeling as if their row had brought them closer instead of alienating them.

Ron had even found it in himself to make polite conversation with their guest, and Severus, though a bit laconic, had played his part amiably enough. They'd waved a cheerful good-bye to the Potions Master before Apparating to Godric's Hollow, laden with parcels and both looking forward to the family gathering.

Most of the party had already arrived.

James and Albus, the two troublemakers, had gone back to Hugo and their uncle George; the four were huddled in a corner, evidently hatching plans for evening entertainment. With any luck, there'd be the same number of people at Godric's Hollow once they'd put their schemes into action. Hermione didn't feel any inclination to deal with corpses while on holiday.

Lily and Rose, hair clashing in a way that defied description, were engaged in discussion with Victoire, who showed them how to hold a newborn. She'd married Teddy Lupin eighteen months ago, and their son Remus had been born two days after Hermione's birthday. Both Hermione and Ginny found never-ending pleasure in addressing Bill's wife as Grandma Fleur (one of the very few feelings they shared).

Bill and Fleur, the proud grandparents, had apparently been buttonholed by Percy who, like his brother George, was still unmarried, much to Molly's oft-expressed displeasure.

Molly was nowhere to be seen; Hermione reckoned she probably was in the kitchen driving her daughter mad.

Arthur was sitting next to the fireplace. When he smiled at Harry, who'd refilled his glass, Hermione felt a pang of anxiety. Her father-in-law, whom she loved very much, didn't look too well. He was almost completely bald now, and very thin. She wondered if Molly even noticed – she'd have to have a word with her.

After kissing and hugging everybody, Hermione followed Rose to duly admire little Remus. She liked Victoire – another lucky winner of the genetics lottery, because she was as beautiful as her mother but had her father's steady, easygoing character (unlike her younger sister Germaine, who was still attending Beauxbatons and had mercifully chosen to spend Christmas in France with some friends).

Charlie and his wife and children were the last to arrive, and for more than an hour groups formed and drifted apart as people exchanged news, went to refresh their drinks and from time to time remembered that somebody ought to keep an eye on the children.

Then Ginny and her mother emerged from the kitchen (Hermione looked for knife wounds and pan-formed bruises in both women but was disappointed to detect none), and the whole crowd was herded to the large living room table. Belatedly, Hermione realized that she ought to have checked the seating order – Ginny, for lack of other occupations, had discovered the delights of being a Proper Housewife, so there were of course place cards – because now it was too late for her to swap chairs.

She therefore had to spend two and a half hours wedged between Percy and Fleur.

There was no love lost between her and Ginny, but Hermione found that this was taking things a bit too far. But there was nothing she could do about it now, and so she ate as slowly as possible, limiting her contributions to the conversation to the occasional 'Oh, really?' and 'Indeed!'. After a while, she gave up the pretence and simply remained silent. Neither Fleur nor Percy noticed, since they were both too busy listening to their own brilliant monologues, and so her mind was free to wander. Somebody was regularly topping up her wineglass though, and she soon realized that her thoughts were wandering in directions which were not only rather unsuited to the occasion but downright embarrassing.

It wasn't all her fault, she told herself. Maybe she wasn't as interested in sex as, say, Ginny or Fleur, but Ron didn't show much interest, either. They had sex maybe once a month, well, every six weeks rather. Eight weeks. Oh, sod it. It wasn't bad, but then it had never been particularly good.

That feeling of arousal that had overwhelmed her – was it really only four days ago? – on her way from the Apparition point to the doors of Hogwarts had merely been temporarily drowned out by other emotions. But, as she realized under the influence of warmth and alcohol, it had been a constant undercurrent, sometimes so imperceptible she'd thought it had gone away completely. It had been with her the whole time, and she'd never even thought of having sex with Ron.

The truth was that it didn't have anything to do with Ron.

It had started seemingly out of nowhere, out there in the infinite night, when she'd looked up at the stars.

She took a few absentminded sips of wine and decided that she might just as well be honest with herself: she'd felt it flare up sharply twice during the last days. First when Malfoy had shaken her hand, and the second time when she'd been contemplating Severus's wiry back and thighs, while he was toasting crumpets in her living room.

Malfoy and Snape.

After twenty-two years with Ron, nineteen of them married. She didn't think of herself as a saint, or even beyond temptation, she'd merely assumed that she didn't need sex as much as other people did. Besides it was common knowledge that sparks – provided there'd been any in the first place – ceased to fly with the years.

Well, she'd evidently been wrong. There was some sex drive left in her. That it had latched onto the first two males that weren't her husband or best friend wasn't really surprising.

She'd better do something about it, though. To even think about an affair with Severus was just plain abuse of power, something she considered way beneath her.

And Malfoy – a tumble between the sheets with Lucius Malfoy certainly didn't count as abuse of power, not with the equilibrium their talk had established yesterday. But by sleeping with him she'd give him considerable power over her. He was single and unattached, he had nothing to lose. She, however, had a reputation, a family. Tempting though the thought may be, this was a road she must not take, under no circumstances whatsoever.

It was tempting, though…

The sharp clink of metal on glass abruptly brought her back to the here and now.

Arthur had stood up and tapped his glass with his knife, beaming at everyone in turn.

Apparently there was going to be a speech of some kind.

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes, resigning herself to her fate. When she opened them again, she was surprised to notice that the plate in front of her showed traces of chocolate sauce, a forlorn raisin clinging to the moist, brown surface. She could've sworn she'd been eating turkey only a moment ago…

Unsurprisingly, Arthur's speech circled around Harry and his future like a moth around a candle. A sideways glance at her husband, who was sitting three chairs down on her left between George and Teddy (yes, Ginny was inordinately fond of her brother), confirmed her fears: Ron's good mood had entirely evaporated. He looked sullen and bitter.

So much for domestic peace at Tinworth.


	8. Chapter 3 Part 1

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO THINK

The children and most of the younger family members had gone outside to play Quidditch. Molly, impatient to take over the kitchen, had told Ginny to go and have fun with the others, and Ginny had joined the players, though not without casting a glare entirely devoid of daughterly love at her mother.

Arthur was napping in his chair in front of the fireplace.

Hermione, who hated flying with a vengeance and harboured no interest for Quidditch, offered to watch little Remus and was joined by Harry shortly after the others had left the house in a flurry of laughter, scarves and squabbling over who'd get the best broomsticks.

'So,' Harry said, after making sure that Arthur was fast asleep, 'how was your meeting with Malfoy?'

Keeping the lid down firmly on the guilty thoughts that resurfaced as soon as Malfoy was mentioned, Hermione shrugged. 'I promised him to keep our talk secret, so I can't tell you much. He didn't do it, that much is clear.'

'He's a very accomplished liar. Are you sure-'

'Yes, I'm sure. I made him take Veritaserum.'

Harry grinned appreciatively. 'Not as cunning as he used to be, is he? I bet you couldn't have slipped him Veritaserum twenty years ago.'

'I probably couldn't have now. He agreed to take it.'

'What?' Harry choked on his tea. 'What?' he repeated, once he'd finished coughing. 'You're having me on, aren't you? Malfoy would never-'

'Well, he did. As I said, I really can't tell you more – a promise is a promise, even one made to Malfoy. Anyway, he agreed to help me with my investigation.'

'And do you think he will?'

'He said so under Veritaserum, so I guess he will, yes. I'm not sure he'll be of much use, but it can't hurt to try. We have another appointment for tomorrow.'

Harry sniffed and pushed up his glasses. 'Sounds, erm, too good to be true. But I trust your judgment. Does Ron know?'

Little Remus's hair underwent a rapid change from blond to purple to lime green. Harry and Hermione exchanged an anxious glance. The baby's face seemed to express an immensely complicated emotion, then the hair suddenly went bright red, and he farted loudly.

Wiping teas of laughter from her cheeks, Hermione said, 'There's your answer.'

'Don't give a fart?'

'Yep. The less Ron knows about this, the better.' She nodded towards Arthur's sleeping form at the other end of the room. 'The speech didn't exactly improve his mood.'

'Tell me something I don't know. I sat opposite him, I saw it. Hermione, is there anything I can do to help?'

'I honestly have no idea. I'm pretty sure that talking to you would be good for him, but if you're the one making the first step, he'll merely retreat further into his shell.'

'Probably…' Harry stared into his teacup. 'Is Snape giving you any trouble?'

'No, he's going out of his way to be nice.'

In a way, that really was the truth. After they'd verbally slaughtered each other, he'd been kinder than Hermione would've expected. He'd apologized, and he hadn't made any hidden allusions this morning. For Severus Snape, such behaviour qualified as saintly.

'Good.' He nodded. 'I'd like to talk to him. D'you think I could pop over one of these days?'

'Why don't you visit tomorrow afternoon? I'll be at Malfoy Manor, Ron's at work, and the children aren't due home before New Year's Day. If your and Ginny's nerves can take it, that is.'

'No problem,' he said, grinning. 'Believe it or not, they're less trouble when there's more of them. I still have to raid Al's room from time to time, to make sure he and Hugo don't blow up the house, but that's routine, more or less. By the way…' He scooted a little closer to her. 'I need a favour. Could you talk to Lily?'

Puzzled, Hermione frowned at him. 'Yes, of course, but what's the problem?'

'I'm not sure exactly. James and Al tell me there's this rumour about Lily seeing an older man.'

Hermione almost dropped the baby. 'What? Harry, Lily's thirteen!'

'I know. But times have changed, Hermione. When we were thirteen, we were no more than children, and we had more important things on our minds than sex.' He made a helpless gesture and continued, 'I made the boys swear they wouldn't tell Ginny. She and Lily are having difficulties… You know what puberty does to children.'

Hermione rolled her eyes and nodded. 'I still have my troubles with Rose.'

'Yes, but you're her mother. It's always different with parents, they think we're complete idiots. Will you talk to Lily?'

'I'll try.' Remus was squirming in her arms, and she fished for his rattle. 'Maybe I ought to tell her, in strict confidence of course, that I have an older lover – that might encourage her to reciprocate, what do you think?'

'That,' Harry said, snorting, 'would be the joke of the century.'

o

Hermione got lucky sooner than she'd expected – shortly before dinner, Rose nestled close to her in a (nowadays) rare show of affection and pronounced, scowling, that Lily was a stupid cow.

Teenaged mood swings were something Hermione had come to know, hate and finally accept years ago. She'd stuck to her own mother's method though, and always taken her children's hormone-induced tempers seriously. Molly, the omniscient expert in childcare, had muttered about 'too much trouble by half' and 'half-baked modern ideas', but experience had shown that Rose and Hugo didn't rebel half as much as Molly's own offspring had done in their time.

She therefore put her arm around Rose's shoulders and cautiously asked, 'What happened? You seemed to get on well just an hour ago – did you quarrel?'

'She's shutting me out,' Rose complained. 'Suddenly she goes all mysterious and misty-eyed, and she wanders off, and when I want to go with her, she says I can't.'

Alarm bells rang in Hermione's head. 'Sounds like Lily's in love,' she said as nonchalantly as she could. 'What do you think?'

'Mum!' Indignation written all over her freckly face, Rose pushed her away. 'You're disgusting! She's thirteen!'

Wisely choosing not to mention Rose's obsession with her uncle Charlie, which had wreaked havoc with their summer holidays two years ago, Hermione ventured, 'I could talk to her, if you like.'

Rose shrugged. 'If you insist.'

How hard it must be, Hermione thought on her way upstairs to her niece's room, to play cool, when all you wanted was a cuddle and a bit of reassurance. No wonder teenagers were so lazy, considering all the energy that went into maintaining their façade of imperturbable aloofness.

The door to Lily's room, which she was currently sharing with Rose, was closed, and Hermione knocked. She let out a sigh of relief when Lily called 'Come in!'

A single candle was burning on the desk, which was probably a good thing, because the uncertain half-light more or less concealed the mess the two girls had made of their lair. Careful not to tread on the quills, shoes, bras, books and other assorted possessions littering the floor, Hermione weaved her way towards the desk.

'Hi there,' she said, perching on the corner, 'Do you mind if I intrude? It's a bit loud down there.'

Lily smiled up at her. She was a beauty, Hermione realized. Even at her awkward age, with her gangly limbs and clumsy movements, the girl had the natural grace of a doe. Yes, she could imagine men going crazy over that porcelain complexion, auburn hair and budding femininity. A teacher, maybe? Fighting the sudden urge to rip and kill, Hermione forced herself to smile. 'I hope I didn't interrupt anything.'

'No,' Lily said, a little too quickly. 'I'm sorry about Rose,' she added.

'Oh, that. I suppose it wasn't the first tiff and won't be the last. Is there anything I can do to help you clear the air?'

'N-no, it's just…' Lily's lips started to tremble. The flickering candle light was reflected in the tears welling up in her eyes.

'Oh darling!' Hermione slid off the table and crouched down next to the girl. 'What's wrong, Lily? Why are you crying?'

Lily sniffed and stared down at her. 'Can you keep a secret?'

I'll go and kill the bastard, Hermione thought, feeling a rush of protective love. How dare he? Aloud she said, 'Of course I can. It's in my job description, you know.'

That got her a watery smile from her niece. 'That's true. I need to tell someone, only I didn't know who.'

'Well, I'm here. And I'd like to know.' Hermione sat down, cross-legged, on the floor.

'Yes. I'd like to tell you.' There was a short pause, Lily visibly fighting the urge to just run. 'I'm in love,' she finally said, her voice small.

There we go. I swear I'll kill him, whoever he is. 'That's wonderful, darling! Who is the lucky guy?'

New tears came, and Lily's nose was showing the first signs of swelling up. 'Promise you won't laugh.'

'Laugh? Lily, darling, love is no laughing matter, regardless of your age. Of course I won't laugh.'

'It's Sirius.'

'Of course it's serious, if it makes you so unhappy.'

'No, it's his name. Sirius.' From the depths of her desk drawer, Lily produced a battered old photograph. 'I can't explain it. He's so… He looks so handsome, and funny… Daddy loved him so much, and he had this horrible life, twelve years in Azkaban, and then on the run, and then he died…' The tears were running freely now.

An older man. Indeed. Hermione held Lily, stroking her hair and soothing her until the sobs had somewhat calmed down. 'Oh, Lily. How long have you been carrying this around with you?'

'I don't know, but it's been… quite some time.' Her face burrowed into Hermione's shoulder. 'You knew him, didn't you?'

'Yes. Not as well as Harry, but I knew him.' This was definitely not the moment for historical accuracy. 'He was a wonderful man. And he wasn't all unhappy. He did meet Harry, after all, and he was able to help him, and in the end he saved his life.' And unleashed a chain of events that almost cost us our victory.

'Did he…' Lily cleared her throat. 'Did he have a girlfriend?'

'No, darling, he didn't.' He was crap at relationships. He would've destroyed any woman with his possessiveness, his recklessness and his cruelty.

'Do you think he would've fancied me?'

You look so much like Lily. Of course he would. 'I think he would. Being a gentleman, he would have waited until you were a bit older, but I'm sure he would've asked you out as soon as possible. After having to fight a duel with your father, of course.' The past had indeed come back to haunt them.

'I wish,' Lily whispered, 'I wish I could've brought him back. I wish there was ano-… a way.'

There is, darling, but I'd cut out my tongue rather than tell you. 'I know, darling. I know. But love is love, whether your loved one is alive or not.' She held the girl at arm's length. 'Tell you what, when you come over to our house, I'll tell you all about him.'

'You will? Honestly?'

That smile is going to break more than one heart. 'Yes, I will. Maybe I even have photos Harry doesn't have, who knows? Now go and freshen up, dinner's waiting.'

With a heavy heart, Hermione went downstairs. Harry was lurking near the bottom of the stairs.

'Everything OK?'

Not really, but that, my friend, is none of your concern. 'No need to worry,' she said, tousling his hair. 'I talked to Lily. Those boys really ought to leave their poor sister in peace and do something useful instead of inventing cock-and-bull stories about her imaginary love life.'

The relief in Harry's eyes got her through dinner conversation with (again!) Percy and Fleur.

o


	9. Chapter 3 Part 2

She'd evidently been upgraded – this time, Malfoy came to meet her at the entrance door

She'd evidently been upgraded – this time, Malfoy came to meet her at the entrance door.

'Madam Weasley.' He shook her hand. 'It is a pleasure.'

Hermione merely bowed her head and followed him – yes! The library again. She had to suppress a squeal of delight.

He was dressed more formally than the last time they'd met, probably because he'd been prepared to receive her. With an inward sigh, Hermione acknowledged that he didn't look half bad. She still hadn't completely let go of her Muggle way of thinking – sixty-five wasn't old for a wizard. The man was still in his prime. He was bloody handsome, and he knew it. Conceited bastard.

He was also completely calm and unperturbed, the arrogant prick. As if he hadn't propositioned her in the bluntest terms imaginable (that this wasn't entirely his fault wasn't really relevant, was it?). But he didn't mention the incident. If she'd expected him to apologize, she'd been mistaken.

'How is Severus?' he asked when they'd taken their seats.

'Fine, I think. He chose to remain at home yesterday, and I daresay he enjoyed himself. To judge by the number of empty bottles. Harry's coming over today, to have a talk.'

'He ought to have saved the bottles for afterwards.'

'We've still enough left, but I think they'll get along well. They've both changed, you know?'

'I am sure you know Potter better than I do. But how, pray tell, has Severus changed?'

'He seems nicer. But that may be due to me being older now, seeing him in a different light and all that. I'm not sure.'

'What a relief. A nice Severus would be… incongruous. A shock to the system.'

'Would you like to see him?'

He looked up, evidently surprised. 'Of course I would. But such a meeting would have to take place at your home, for obvious reasons, and I don't mean to intrude.'

'You can drop by any time you like. I'm sure Severus would be delighted.' Now that had been a wholly unintentional gaffe. She chose to leave it at that, though. Let him think she wouldn't be delighted to see him. It was the truth after all, wasn't it?

'That's very kind of you,' he said without batting an eyelid. 'Speaking of your home, Madam Weasley – I don't mean to be indiscreet, but with your children there for the duration of the holidays, is there no danger of the news of Severus's return getting around?'

'They're still at Godric's Hollow, visiting with Harry and Ginny. But you're right, with the children around the risk would be considerable.'

The tea the elf – the same as last time, although sans tinsel wreath – had set out for them was even more lavish than a few days ago. There was, among other things, an assortment of miniature short crust pastries filled with a deadly-looking cream and topped with fruit, which particularly attracted Hermione. She'd have to work her way towards them slowly, because such pleasures had to be duly prepared, and besides the canapés weren't too bad-looking, either. She selected a few and paused briefly to appreciate the gaudy arrangement on her plate.

'I was thinking of asking a favour of you,' she said.

'If it is in my power to grant it…'

'I think it is. It's more a question of wanting than being able to grant it.'

'In that case,' he said with a sweeping gesture, 'consider it done.'

She couldn't resist the urge to smile – he was putting it on with a trowel, but his eyes were alight with irony. Self-irony was something Hermione greatly appreciated.

'I meant to ask you whether you'd be willing to provide housing for Severus, for the week from New Year's Eve till school starts again. The manor is such a large house, I guess he would also enjoy having a bit more room to himself.'

'With the greatest pleasure. He could of course stay here longer than a week, if he wanted to.'

'Y-yes. But I… He's being rather sensitive about the whole issue. I wouldn't want him to get the impression of being unwelcome at my house. We had a, well, an argument two days ago. He thinks I took him in like a stray dog.'

Malfoy smiled thinly. 'Oh, Severus could sulk for England when it comes to accepting help. Or rather, when the acceptance is one-sided. If he were able to reciprocate in some way or other, I suppose he'd be a lot less difficult.'

Hermione nodded, pondering the information. 'That kind of fits, yes. Doesn't surprise me, either, considering how everybody used to exploit him. It's probably become something of a reflex, expecting that he'll have to repay every little kindness tenfold. At least it isn't just because of me.'

'Well, if I may venture an educated guess, I daresay it has a lot to do with you. Severus is quite old-fashioned, you know?'

'You're one to talk.' She shot him a withering glare. 'You mean, because I'm a woman and he's playing the part of Damsel in Distress?'

Malfoy nodded. 'Exactly. That certainly doesn't make it any easier for him to accept your help.'

'Erm…' Hermione chewed her lip, as always when she wasn't quite sure how to proceed. 'Do you think… You said you'd like to see him. If you really came to visit at Tinworth, do you think i_you_ /imight propose that he come to stay here with you?'

'To sweeten the pill?'

'Uh-huh. You're welcome to utter a few choice observations on the appalling state of my household and the size of the house.'

'I think,' he said, 'there will be no need for me to resort to such extreme measures. I can manage without casting aspersions on your family home.' He refilled his cup. 'I would like to ask you a question concerning our last interview.'

'To quote you, if it is in my power to answer it, consider it answered.'

'Hmm. Let us see. You mentioned something called the Resurrection Stone. Was that how Severus was brought back?'

Hermione sighed. 'I thought long and hard whether to ask you that question. Because, yes, that's what brought Severus back. On the other hand, the existence of the stone isn't exactly public knowledge, and…' She fell silent, due to her inability to find a polite way of expressing "I'm not going to tell a power-crazed hyena like you more about an artefact you might use for your own unsavoury ends".

He seemed to have understood the part she'd left unsaid, though. 'Madam Weasley, I would like to make one thing very clear: There is nobody, I repeat nobody, whom I'd wish to bring back to life. My interest was awakened for a different reason. You may or may not know that History of Magic is some kind of a hobby of mine. There is more than enough here' – he gestured at the rows of books – 'to keep me busy for a lifetime. Now, I never heard anything about a Resurrection Stone, but… You'll understand that our conversation left me intrigued, to put it mildly – your question stirred something in my mind, and I spent the best part of the night trying to get hold of it.'

'And have you?' He had her full attention now. 'Got hold of it, I mean.'

'I think I may have.'

Hermione felt as if she was going to burst with curiosity. 'So tell me, come on, tell me!'

'Such impatience.' He smirked. 'It's a long story, though.'

'I don't have to leave anytime soon, so if you don't have any pressing engagements…'

'I'm yours for the whole afternoon.' Balancing his cup and saucer in his left hand, he leaned back. 'Tell me, Madam Weasley, have you ever heard the name Peverell?'

'But… but…' Hermione nearly choked on her canapé. 'But I bloody asked you about the Deathly Hallows! You were under Veritaserum, how could you-'

Malfoy held up his hand. 'I assure you, I have never heard of anything called the Deathly Hallows. Although, after having pursued my idée fixe, I think I have an inkling of what you're talking about. But let me tell my story.'

Feeling equal parts enraged and enthralled, Hermione shrugged. 'Go on then.'

'Thank you. Since you seem to have some knowledge of the Peverell brothers, I shall start a little earlier. Are you familiar with the story of King Arthur?'

'Mr Malfoy, I don't mean to be rude, but is this a quiz, or are you going to tell me something useful?'

'You must forgive my little mannerisms, dear lady. Believe me, you shall have your story. So, are you familiar with the story of King Arthur?'

'Well…' She frowned. 'A little, yes. Welsh poetry, Geoffrey of Monmouth, Chrétien de Troyes – I'd have to read up on it, I admit. It's something every British child learns at school, but I obviously missed out on the Muggle curriculum.'

'Interesting. I had no idea Muggles knew so much about such an arcane subject.'

'Arcane? You mean – well yes, now you mention it… I don't think I ever heard anything much about it in History of Magic. There was Merlin of course, but King Arthur wasn't much more than a footnote.'

'Yes, that sums it up nicely. You mentioned Geoffrey of Monmouth.'

'Was he a wizard?'

'He was a monk, Madam Weasley.'

'Ah.' Hermione, who still tended to feel out of her depth whenever confronted with knowledge superior to her own, bit her lip. Usually she switched to aggressive mode in such situations (and the fact that this was Lucius Malfoy lecturing her on wizarding history certainly made her feel even more antagonistic), but her enthralment with the matter quickly won over. 'Well, he might have come from a wizarding family.'

'No, no. Of course not. He did, however, have some knowledge of our kind. He's the first author who ever mentioned Merlin in connection with Arthur – later on, linking the two became a literary tradition, Muggle of course, but the Historia Regum Britanniae is the first source that puts the two together.

'Now, Geoffrey seems to have been in a bit of a dilemma. As I said, he had some knowledge of our kind. I'd even go farther than that, actually. The source I'm referring to strongly suggests that he was a friend of our kind. But wizards weren't looked upon too kindly in those days. There was a first version of the Historia Regum, full of allusions to the wizarding world, its legends and traditions… Or maybe it wasn't a _first_ version, which he later purged of all those bits. Maybe he knowingly wrote two versions, leaving to fate the decision which of them was going to survive.'

Feeling as if she were standing in front of a door to a part of the world, _her_ world, the existence of which she'd never suspected, Hermione listened, transfixed, cheeks hot and eyes burning. 'So the purged one survived?'

'Yes. It does refer to wizards – Arthur's magicians, for example, and of course Merlin, but except for Merlin the wizards aren't exactly portrayed in a flattering manner. Geoffrey paints an extremely negative picture of them. A bunch of lying, ignorant, sycophantic hypocrites, more or less. Merlin is represented in a positive light only because of his contribution to the ascent of a Christian king, Aurelius Ambrosius, who re-established the Christian faith. The other, more wizard-friendly version, however, is believed to be lost.'

'And is it?'

Malfoy's eyelids drooped, and he smiled. 'Lost to the world maybe.'

'But you have it? i_Here_/i?'

'I do. I'll let you see it when I've finished. If you're interested, of course.'

'Am I… Well of course I'm interested, I'm… But go on with your story.'

'In this… let us call it the pagan version of the Historia, there is a short chapter about Merlin's provenance. While relatively insignificant in itself, it becomes immensely interesting in combination with other, much older texts. Those, too, are very rare, but fortunately my ancestors were avid collectors of the arcane. I do possess a few of those texts, and this is the story they tell:

'In those early times, there weren't many wizards and witches in the British Isles. A couple of hundreds, I think, not more, a big tribe rather than anything else. And a strongly matriarchal tribe at that. Yes,' he said, seeing Hermione's beatific smile, 'I thought you'd like that.'

Their eyes met, and for the first time there was genuine warmth in his look.

'This, let us say, tribe held a traditional meeting at winter solstice, every year. The purpose of the meeting was this: The head of the tribe, always a very powerful witch, was to choose two equally powerful wizards – I have no idea how the choice was made, maybe there was a competition, or duels. During this longest night of the year, this witch was to have intercourse with both wizards. The child born from this union was believed to be an extraordinarily powerful wizard or witch, even more so if the night was clear and the Milky Way, well, witnessed the, erm, proceedings. Merlin – and this brings us back to Geoffrey – was believed to have sprung from such a ritual.'

'Wait a second…' Words read a long a time ago and believed forgotten were suddenly leaping into her conscious mind. 'I'm sure I remember something about… Wasn't there a bit about dragons lurking at the bottom of a pond?' She massaged her forehead, as if to stimulate the flow of memories. 'And Merlin – I'm sure he was fatherless, wasn't he?'

'You never cease to surprise me, Madam Weasley. Your memory must be extraordinary. Yes, that is the story Geoffrey tells in the purged version. Merlin's mother is called to Vortigern's court, and Vortigern asks her about Merlin's father. She tells a rather, erm, absurd story – to put it politely – about a person in the shape of a most beautiful young man, who often "embraced her eagerly in his arms". An educated euphemism for having sex. He also talked to her sometimes, without making himself visible. She claims that he is Merlin's father.'

'And they did, of course believe her,' Hermione muttered.

'Of course,' Malfoy said, mouth twitching.

'Those were the days, indeed. If you told such a load of bullshit today, you'd end up in the Janus Thickey ward in no time.'

'Probably. What makes both versions of the chapter so interesting, however, is the fact that Geoffrey never mentions the woman's name.'

'He probably didn't know it.'

'Maybe, but I tend towards another explanation: Either the witch performing the ritual didn't have a name, or, if she did, it was protected by powerful spells.'

'Why shouldn't she have had a name?'

'Because, my dear Madam Weasley, this witch, this extremely powerful woman, who was destined to bear another powerful wizard or witch, was a living symbol. A receptacle, the main purpose of whose life was to guard and ensure the continuity of the gene of outstanding magical power. Her identity as such wasn't important.'

'Hmm. That's…' Hermione felt revulsion at the mere thought of being an anonymous receptacle of power. 'Individuality wasn't exactly important in those times, was it?' she finally said.

'Not in her case, no.'

Suppressing a shudder, Hermione tried for a bit of lightness. 'But it wasn't all bad. I mean, having a threesome once every year must've been a perk of some kind.'

'I wouldn't be so sure. If she was unlucky, she got pregnant the first time, and then was condemned to leading a life of chastity. The meeting at winter solstice still took place, but she was the only one not allowed to have sex that night.'

'Oh. Well, yes, that makes it seem a lot less interesting.'

'I agree. Besides, I don't think that there's much fun to be had, being a virgin assaulted by two wizards who, though admittedly powerful, probably lacked the necessary technique.'

'Erm, no. I suppose not.' Frowning, Hermione tried to process the information. 'But two men? That's highly unusual – animal behaviour shows us clearly that it's always the strongest male who mates with more than one female, in order to spread his superior genes as widely as possible.'

'You ought to give the human race more credit than that. There were – and still are, if memory serves me – matriarchal societies, where women have more than one husband or companion.'

'Hmm… Yes, that's true. And I guess the wizards' grasp of the fundamental principles of biology was as poor as the Muggles' back then.'

'Much as it pains me to admit it, our grasp of biology is still a lot poorer than the Muggles'. Of course we don't believe anymore that two different men's sperm can fecundate one and the same egg. As for the rest…' He made a gesture of resignation.

Some part of Hermione's mind had been itching for some time to tell her something important, but she didn't heed the urge, impatient to hear more. 'Anyway, what does all this have to do with the Peverell brothers?'

'I'll arrive there shortly, Madam Weasley. Bear with me.

'The deeper meaning of this ritual was known only to two people: The head of the tribe and her daughter or, if she'd given birth to a son, she told it to a witch of her confidence. It was a secret revealed on the deathbed, never divulged any further.

'Then, of course, came Christianity. Wizards had to withdraw, coming together became more difficult – most of this is my own theory, by the way, but it fits very well with the historical facts. The ritual couldn't always be performed, times became more dangerous. In the end, the secret had to be entrusted to more than one person, because the danger of it perishing together with its keeper was too great. It was disclosed to more people and, as is the way of secrets handed down from ear to ear, became a little distorted.

'With time, the wizarding society emulated the Muggle world: Men began to dominate it, women were gradually being marginalized. Still, the secret was known to but a few, but it was… you might say virilized. The creation of life, so essentially feminine, became victory over death. Winter solstice, previously regarded as the point where the cycle of nature both ended and started afresh, became death. The Milky Way, unhooked from the night sky like a piece of useless decoration, became a mere river. 'And, most importantly, the triad consisting of one woman and two men was turned into a brotherhood of three men.

'Even the sacred symbol of this fertility ritual was altered, if only slightly.'

Malfoy summoned a piece of parchment and a quill and drew an equilateral triangle, bisected by a vertical line that protruded slightly further than the triangle's base. On that end of the line, opposite the triangle's apex, he drew a large dot.

'But that's not quite right,' Hermione breathed, 'I know that symbol – heavens, i_do_ /iI know it! But it looks slightly different, the line stops at the base, and the dot is at the centre of the triangle!'

'As I said, the symbol changed as the legend changed. What you see here' – he tapped the figure he'd drawn – 'is the original symbol, or at least as close as we can come nowadays. Traces of it can still be found, if you know where to look. The sign symbolizes the female element' – the tip of his quill followed the shape of the triangle – 'the enclosing womb maybe, the protection it affords. The line and dot, some more ancient versions also have two dots, are the penis and testicles. Penis and testicles are always slightly apart, probably to indicate that two men had to participate in the ritual.

'Later on, the dot migrated to the centre, and the triangle and dot were probably interpreted as a stylized eye, the eye of death maybe. Cutting it in two with this line may have been a symbol of conquering death.'

'Oh my god,' Hermione muttered, 'I think I can see where this is going.'

'I'm sure you can, Madam Weasley.' Malfoy smiled briefly, then continued, 'The legend and the distorted symbol lived on. Then, about three hundred years after Geoffrey, when the original, secret ritual was long forgotten, the Peverell brothers enter the scene.

'The Peverells are a family even older than the Malfoys – though now extinct, they were able to trace their origins back to the times before the Christianization of Britain. Somehow, the brothers came across the legend. And somehow they found out more about it – this is another theory, though a rather valid one, but I believe they might have had access to some manuscripts. Obviously not the real thing – the written sources for the real thing were well hidden at that time and only discovered later – but something closer to genuine than the little-known legend. Or maybe one of their ancestors had been a keeper of the secret and left notes. I'm afraid we will never discover how exactly the Peverell brothers acquired their knowledge.

'However, they discovered that the winter solstice was somehow involved. They found out that it was some kind of ritual to do with life and death. They were sure the ritual had to be performed in some special place, maybe somewhere near a river. And, since the three were wizards of amazing power – who can say, perhaps one of their forefathers had even been born from exactly that ritual – they managed to produce three artefacts: A wand that supposedly was stronger than any other that had ever been or would ever be made, a substance that they thought would bring people back from the dead, and some kind of protection to make one inaccessible to death.

'They almost died in the process, maybe merely because of the cold and the effort involved, or maybe because of the magical energy they released during their endeavour. In any case, they managed to create these truly stunning artefacts.

'Unfortunately, the three Peverell brothers, although powerful, weren't clever enough to keep their achievement a secret. I daresay they also quarrelled amongst each other, and soon the damage was done: Too many people wanted those artefacts, and the three brothers didn't have an easy life. Or an easy death, come to think of it.

'Later on, their story was turned into a children's tale by-'

'Beedle the Bard,' Hermione interrupted him tonelessly. 'To teach children a lesson in morals. And the original symbol acquired a new meaning.'

'Er, yes. Exactly. And what had previously been a powerful ritual, to be later turned into an alluring tale, finally became a mere bedtime story to be told to wizarding children. Ironic, don't you think?'

Covering her eyes with her hands, Hermione shook her head. 'I don't know what to think anymore. I believed…' She slowly lowered her hands and looked at Malfoy. 'I believed that we had reached the bottom, but that there should be so much more…'

He leaned forward, elbows propped on the armrests of his chair, fingertips forming a steeple. 'It seems that what I told you has more to do than I thought with those Deathly Hallows you mentioned. And you appear to have more than a passing acquaintance with the legend.'

'I… Oh, shit,' she said with feeling. 'I honestly don't know what to do. You've shared knowledge which I guess only very few wizards possess…'

'Trust me, there can't be many. This lore is well hidden in ancient texts that are so difficult to come by – no, I don't think many know about it. I probably am the only one in England.'

'Yes…' Hermione meant to rake her fingers through her hair but ended up with her hand stuck in the frizzy nest. 'I'll have to discuss this with Harry. If it were up to me, I'd choose to trust you, tell you everything, and to hell with it. But this is his decision. I don't have the right to take it from him. I'll talk to him about it as soon as possible – maybe we can discuss this whole issue together… When do you think you'd like to visit?'

'What about the day after tomorrow?'

She mentally went over Ron's work schedule. 'Would seven p.m. be okay? We can have dinner, I'll invite Harry over too. It's going to be interesting.'

'A perfectly ambiguous word for a perfectly unpredictable situation.'

'Yes, I know. But if we're all on our best behaviour…'

'Being on one's best behaviour can be very dangerous.' A flick of his wand lit the candles – they'd been sitting in the dark for almost half an hour. 'But let us leave the matter for now. Unless of course' – he smiled wickedly – 'you'd like to have a look at Geoffrey's manuscript?'

o


	10. Chapter 3 Part 3

Harry's desire to talk to Severus Snape had been strong, almost overwhelming

Harry's desire to talk to Severus Snape had been strong, almost overwhelming. He'd been fretting and fussing the whole day long, until Ginny asked him pointedly whether he didn't have to do some Auroring, preferably in a faraway place without a Floo connection.

He'd taken the hint and retreated, grumpy but docile, to his study where he'd spent the time until four p.m. going through all the memories he kept in a well-warded cabinet, all of them bottled and labelled.

The memories seeping from Snape's head when he died hadn't been the silvery wisps Harry had come to know in the years before. They were tar-like, viscous and almost black. The memories of a dying man.

He'd started with those. It had been years since he'd last visited them; upon closer examination, Harry realized that he hadn't looked at them for nary on twenty years. They were still crystal clear in his mind, but then refreshing them wasn't the purpose of this walk down memory lane

Snape was alive now – impossible to predict whether this was a lasting condition, how long he'd be staying at Hermione's house, how long he'd be accessible enough for the kind of talk Harry had in mind. If he was accessible today, that is, but Harry had a feeling as if, unless he got lucky today, there wasn't going to be another occasion anytime soon.

He paused briefly after going though the glutinous, almost-black memories he'd scooped up in the Shrieking Shack and secured in a jar Hermione had conjured. Then, he poured his own recollections into the pensieve, one by one, following himself through childhood and adolescence, dogging his own steps and paying close attention to the hook-nosed, greasy-haired, foul-tempered teacher in black.

He didn't draw any conclusions, not yet; it was too early for that. He merely made sure that his raw data were all in place. Pity, really, he mused, that his future opinion of Severus Snape was likely to be determined by the outcome of one single conversation. They ought to have more time.

Harry was sure that he and Snape were never going to become anything even remotely close to friends. But he had enough friends. He didn't need Severus Snape to be his pal. He needed to understand Severus Snape, because understanding Severus Snape might be the key to a better understanding of himself.

The awareness that there was some hidden likeness, too vague to be called a bond, had been there the moment he'd viewed Snape's memories for the first time. Seeing that awkward boy wearing ill-fitting, hand-me-down clothes had given him a jolt, as had child-Snape's general air of neglect. There was a common denominator. Maybe the solution was to be found right where the differences began. They'd chosen such different paths. If he understood Snape's choice, maybe he'd be able to understand his own.

Not an entirely altruistic purpose then, but certainly a worthy one.

Fortunately Snape didn't believe in altruism. Had Jesus offered to work a miracle for him, give him a more pleasant-shaped nose maybe, Snape would've got out his pouch of Galleons and paid the man. Refusal of such payment wouldn't have made Snape believe in the power of love; it would have made him deeply suspicious of that bearded guy with his dusty sandals.

No, there was no need for pretence when you had to deal with Snape.

Harry glanced at his watch – it was almost time for him to leave.

o

The door of the Weasleys' family home in Tinworth was opened by a rather sour-looking Severus Snape.

'Mr Potter. Hermione told me you wanted to talk to me.'

'I'd like to, Professor. If you are willing, of course.'

Severus stepped back to let him in. 'Willing seems a rather strong term.'

With the door closed, the entrance was half-dark. The two men peered at each other.

'I suppose there's more eagerness on my part,' Harry said. 'But I don't like being left with half-truths I then have to puzzle out all by myself.'

'A state of mind common to all of Dumbledore's victims, I believe.'

'You certainly were more of a victim than I was, professor. But that's the gist of it, yes. If there's an explanation to be had, why not go for it? Some people may appreciate mystery, but I certainly don't. '

Severus sighed. 'The problem, I think, arises at the point where your desire for clarification, Mr Potter, collides with my desire for privacy.'

'Couldn't we…' Harry shoved up his glasses. 'Couldn't we discuss this sitting down, maybe, and over a cuppa, like the adults we are?' He wasn't sure whether he was imagining the faint growling noise from Severus's direction. 'I don't mean to pry, professor, really I don't. But what's done can't be undone. You gave me your memories, and you'll have to live with that.'

'That's the beauty of it,' Severus said, preceding him into the kitchen where he started busying himself with the preparation of tea. 'I gave you the memories because I was convinced I would i_not_ /ihave to live with it.'

Harry grinned. 'Yes, that's what I call irony. Would knowing that I never showed them to anybody make you feel better?'

Casting him a withering look over his shoulder, Severus shrugged. 'A little, maybe. But you surely told your friends?'

'I… told them what I thought they needed to know. And I did, of course, give the Ministry an abbreviated account – otherwise they would never have consented to pronounce you innocent.'

'That is, as you say, highly ironic, Mr Potter. I'm not innocent, however generously you choose to interpret the term.'

Harry went to rummage for biscuits, in order to break the heavy silence. When he'd found and arranged them on a platter, the two men went to sit down in the living room.

'I think,' he finally said, when they both had filled their cups and performed the ritual of adding milk and sugar, 'that "innocence" is a very, well, vague term. I certainly don't think of you as an innocent, professor. But you were as much one of Dumbledore's puppets as I was. Impotence and innocence i_do_ /ihave a lot in common, you know?'

'Words,' Severus spat. 'Nothing but words, Potter. They make nice fig leaves for the naked truth, but they're scarcely able to mask it.'

He was beginning to retreat into his shell of defensive self-loathing, Harry could feel it. But he hadn't come here to give up so easily.

'Words are all we have to express our thoughts, professor,' he said calmly. 'And whether you like it or not, that's what I think of you. You've been dead these twenty years, so you maybe think I'm still the Harry I was back then. Which I still am, in many ways. But I've come to realize that there's more to human nature than being a good or bad person. I admit that that's what I used to believe, I wouldn't have been able to do what I did, had I had the slightest doubt about it. What do you think, would it have been possible for me to face Voldemort, if I hadn't viewed him as wholly evil, as a being totally devoid of any humanity?'

He scrutinized Severus's face. His expression was hard to read – impassive, drawn-in, but not as forbidding as it had been some minutes ago.

'You made good use of people's need to categorize,' he pushed on. 'I would even go as far as saying that you manipulated them into believing you were a total and utter bastard. It helped you keep your cover, especially during the year you were head-'

'Don't!' Severus snapped. He looked tense now, hunched and taut, an animal ready for flight. 'Don't blather about things you don't know, Potter! You have no idea-'

'That's exactly the problem,' Harry interrupted him. 'That's what makes you so… so unpalatable, Snape. Your arrogance, your belief that you're the supreme sufferer, some kind of perverted Messiah – nobody can ever fathom the depth of your suffering. Well, I can. Been there, done that. The loneliness, the despair, the helplessness, the feeling of being singled out against my will to perform a task I didn't want to accomplish – but if I hadn't, then who would have? You're going to tell me I'm pathetic, professor, but there are certain tasks which just can't be done by every Tom, Dick or, pardon the pun, Harry. Especially – and that was one of the few things Dumbledore was right about – because Tom, Dick or Harry would volunteer because they want to be heroes, they want the glory and the worshipping, the power…'

He'd spilled tea onto his trousers in his agitation and got rid of the stain with a flick of his wand and a vanishing spell.

'But it's the likes of you and me who have to do it, because we feel it's a chore, not some heroic deed. It's never the knights in shining armour who save the world, professor, it's the boys wearing hand-me-down clothes, who don't expect anything. Did you expect to be thanked for what you did?'

Severus, who'd been staring into his cup, raised his head. 'Did you, Potter?'

Eschewing a question by asking one of his own wasn't exactly the most subtle of methods, but Harry somehow sensed that he'd have to make the first step. Honesty in exchange for honesty? He certainly hoped so.

'Thanked is probably the wrong word. I hoped it was going to be worth it. I hoped that maybe, one day, after all this was over, I might be able to lead a normal life.'

The ghost of a smile briefly curved Severus's lips. 'And now you're going to become Minister for Magic.'

'Yes.' Harry's shoulders slumped. 'I… To say "I hate it" would be ridiculous, and it's not exactly what I'm feeling. It's not the worst of fates, after all. But I wish I'd done things differently back then. I ought to have left England, taken the Elder Wand with me, and gone someplace nobody knew me. But…' His eyes met Severus's, and he felt there might be a chance of this talk closing a chapter that had been sitting unfinished in his mind for far too long. 'I couldn't do it. To be happy somewhere else, I think that you need to know where home is. Otherwise you just… kind of float.'

'Yes,' Severus said slowly, 'I think I know what you mean. I suppose…' He gave Harry a long, hard stare and glanced away, at the fireplace, when he continued, 'I suppose that's why death seemed like the best option at the time. I'd always suspected it would finally come to this – I'd seen too many people being killed by that snake' – he shuddered – 'to delude myself that Voldemort would waste a spell on me. He liked the idea of human vermin, traitors and the like, being devoured and digested. Ending up as excrement, exactly what they were in his eyes. I had the potions in my pocket, but…'

'But you couldn't quite resist,' Harry said pensively, barely aware that he was speaking, not thinking. 'So you gave me your memories. You'd given up on yourself, but you couldn't bear the thought of being nothing but the wizarding world's villain. The Bogey Man – children hiding under the bed because mummy'd told them that Snape would come to get them, unless they behaved. Surely that's worse than just dying?'

Severus didn't comment, but merely leant back, arms crossed and head slightly cocked.

'Was it really all because of my mother?' Harry asked after a prolonged silence.

'You may have turned into something very close to a rational human being, Potter, but your rhetorical skills are in dire need of improvement.' The quip somehow lacked venom, though. 'Do you think you might be able to reformulate that question, so it makes a modicum of sense?'

Harry sighed. 'I'll try. It's all a bit muddled in my head. What I mean was, did you really love her so much, so many years after she died, that you…' He threw up his arms. 'Oh, I don't know. Was she the reason why you became Dumbledore's spy?'

'That much must have become clear to you from my memories, Potter.'

'Yes. Yes and no. What I want to know is, was it guilt or was it love?'

'This would be the point where your nosiness clashes with my privacy.'

'Nosiness? You have a bloody cheek, Snape. If I were merely nosy, I'd have laced your tea with Veritaserum and questioned you to my heart's content.'

'Instead, you're trying the emotional approach. I'm touched, truly touched, Potter.'

'Oh, shut up already,' Harry snapped. 'I understand and respect your desire for privacy. But it's my mother we're talking about. I want to know whether you loved her – is that such a breach of privacy?'

'It's a very personal question.'

'Yes, all right, it's a personal question. But we weren't exactly discussing the weather before. This is a personal conversation, in case you hadn't noticed. It's not as if I'm going to tell anybody about it, if that's what you're afraid of. Besides, being in love with my mum doesn't make you any less of a disagreeable bastard, just in case you fear for your image.'

'You're a prat, Potter,' Severus replied calmly. 'And your head is still too full of Dumbledore's nonsense. It always has to be love, doesn't it?'

'It doesn't i_have_ /ito be. That was rather the point of my question.'

Severus took a biscuit and ate it with relish. 'Love,' he finally said, 'is habitually believed to be about putting the beloved person's happiness above one's own. The relationship with Lily was about myself.'

'Seeing yourself through her eyes, believing yourself to be a better person because she thinks you are, and all that bullshit?'

'I was a teenager, Potter. Such bullshit is a common misapprehension at that age. The kind one may smile upon later, yes, but most of us seem to be labouring under it at some time or other.'

'I still do.' Harry grinned at his nemesis. 'And it's not all bullshit, you know? It's a bit like believing there's a heaven and a hell – it makes you think about what you're doing, doesn't it?'

Selecting another biscuit, Severus wagged his head. 'A bit far-fetched, Potter. But yes, it was something like that.'

'Reminds me of Othello,' Harry said dreamily. '"But there, where I have garner'd up my heart, where either I must live, or bear no life; the fountain from the which my current runs, or else dries up – to be discarded thence!"'

'Very poetic, I'm sure,' was the dry comment.

But there'd been a flicker of insecurity in Severus's eyes, Harry was sure.

'Yes, very. And not entirely untrue, is it?'

'Maybe. But nothing to do with love.'

'I wouldn't be so sure. Anyway, I think I understand a little better now. The feeling, I mean. The name you choose to give it scarcely matters.'

They'd arrived at a point Harry wasn't sure how to define. Not a closing point, more like a natural halt, where you stopped to breathe before going any further. He decided to let the issue rest for the moment.

'What do you think you're going to do once Hermione has seen this business through?' he asked, grabbing a biscuit – there weren't that many, and Snape seemed to take a wholly uncharacteristic pleasure in gobbling them down.

'What makes you think she can?'

'You must be joking.' Harry refilled their cups. 'Whatever Hermione means to accomplish, she does. There's no such thing as an insurmountable obstacle in Hermione's world.'

'She's pretty tough,' Severus admitted, adding milk to his tea.

'I wouldn't call her tough so much as, erm, determined. She thinks about things long and hard, then decides what she has to do in order to succeed, and goes through with it. For her, it's as simple as that.'

'I'd hardly call that simple.'

'Nor would I. But it's the way she is. For her, it's simple.'

'I wonder,' Severus ventured, 'what it must be like for Mr Weasley.'

'He's used to it. That tends to make things a bit easier.'

Severus raised an eyebrow. 'Since you know them both so well, I don't think I'm being indiscreet, mentioning that they don't do much else besides fighting.'

Harry sighed, both because Severus had successfully appropriated the last biscuit and because of the state of his two best friends' marriage. 'I know. It's been like that for quite some time, and it became worse once Hugo, too, went off to Hogwarts. It must be hard for Ron – he was brought up in a very traditional family, you know, the father goes out hunting while the mother stays home to guard the fire and feed the offspring.'

'A somewhat incongruous metaphor, as far as Arthur Weasley is concerned.'

Harry snorted. 'I know. But that's what Ron would like his life to be like. His and Hermione's life, that is.'

'Molly Weasley,' Severus said, scowling, 'is nowhere near as brilliant as Hermione, but even she was wasted staying home and popping out a sprog a year. But Hermione… The mind boggles at the mere thought.'

'Yes it does, doesn't it? The problem is that Ron's mind boggles even more at the idea of a wife who'd beat him in a duel with both hands bound behind her back. Not to mention that she managed to have a career i_and_ /ichildren – Molly always made dire predictions about Rose and Hugo becoming criminals, or antisocial, or whatever. Only they didn't come true. Rose and Hugo are model children, not the trained-monkey sort, though. Personally, I can't quite fathom how Hermione managed, but somehow she did. Ron…' He pushed up his spectacles. 'I suppose he's in a constant state of awe.'

'Intimidation, you mean.'

'Well, yes. There's more fear than admiration, I think.'

'And?'

'And what? Do I think they're ill-suited? To tell you the truth, yes, I do. That doesn't mean the marriage is doomed, however. Not if they did something about it, anyway. Only…'

'They don't,' Severus finished the sentence, matter-of-factly.

'I wonder,' Harry said slowly, 'whether my parents would have ended up like that, had they lived. I don't know much about my mum, but…' He shrugged. 'You'd probably be a better judge, seeing as how, well, intimately you knew my mother.'

'There is a certain resemblance,' Severus conceded, forcibly reminded of his own thoughts of a few days ago. 'Lily was as strong-headed as they come. And as powerful as they come, though not as driven as Hermione. She didn't have the same urge to constantly prove herself, probably because she was a lot more self-assured. No, that's not quite right. She took the good things of life for granted. Friendship, being a beauty, being admired, that kind of thing – she thought it was nothing more than her due.'

Harry nodded. 'Back in the old times,' he said, 'I would've wanted to hex you for saying such things about my mother. Or my father, for that matter. But I saw that memory, the one where she gave you the slip after you'd called her a Mudblood. That's something Hermione just wouldn't do, isn't it?'

'We had a fight.'

Severus cast a quick glance at the other wizard, who didn't seem to have any intention to start throwing curses, because Severus had had a fight with his precious friend. Maybe he thought Severus was talking about Lily.

'With Hermione,' he added, still on his guard.

Still no reaction. Harry merely looked interested.

'I said the most horrible things to her, but…'

He glanced at the plate of biscuits. It was empty. His plate of biscuits was always empty, to use a somewhat hackneyed metaphor. But it did describe his life quite accurately.

'But you're still here,' Harry said. 'I suppose she matched you word for word. She isn't the kind of woman who'd just break down crying, not any more.'

'I did make her cry. I, erm, do have a certain way of spotting people's weaknesses, and…'

'Her teeth, remember?'

'Heavens, yes. It was worse, though. And still…'

'And still.' Harry nodded. 'If she had a personal motto, that ought to be it.'

o

Hermione marched into the living room, radiating fierce determination.

Harry had left maybe half an hour ago, and Severus was sitting in front of the fireplace, munching biscuits – he'd hidden most of them before his visitor arrived – drinking tea and reading. He looked up, nonplussed, when she stopped right next to his chair, looming over him. Although short, she did loom pretty impressively, he had to give her that.

'Who the fuck brought you back?' she spat.

Severus sighed. 'Look, we've been over this so many times already, I'm beginning to find it a bit annoying.'

'Frankly, I don't give a shit. Be annoyed, I don't care. What I do care about is the Deathly Hallows not becoming public knowledge. By not telling me, you practically force me to go round interviewing suspects, telling them that a) you're back and b) that you didn't come back all by yourself. Are you aware' – she resolutely tucked a lock behind her ear – 'of the consequences this might have? Not only for you, in case you hadn't noticed? This has to stop.'

Of course he was aware of the consequences. He also knew she was right, she'd already talked to Lucius. He preferred not to think what Lucius might do, once he was aware of the existence of the Elder Wand.

'Does Lucius-'

'Malfoy is irrelevant,' she interrupted him.

Severus snorted. 'He'd be inconsolable if he knew you think he's irrelevant.'

'Yes, probably.' Her stance becoming a little more relaxed, she sighed. 'But Malfoy won't – he knows more about the Deathly Hallows than I ever did, although he had no idea that they went by that name… He didn't do it, though, which means I have to question other people.' She sat down on her haunches, looking up at him. 'Please, Severus. You know how important it is.'

He was being too damned noble for his own good. What had Potter called him? A perverted Messiah, oh yes. What business did he have, really, protecting the girl, well, woman rather? She'd meant to bring back Sirius Black, it wasn't as if she'd wasted her misguided efforts on Severus Snape. Besides, he'd done enough for her while he was alive. It wasn't as if he owed her. Rather the contrary, really.

Then again, Hermione had been right – even though he rationally knew that she would never abuse the power she was currently holding over him, he wanted to retain a little power of his own. It was futile, yes. But he couldn't help it. On the other hand, he didn't want to push her away completely.

'All right,' he finally said. 'I'm going to give you two clues: it was a woman, and I wasn't the one she meant to bring back.'

'You weren't – do you know whom she…' Suddenly, Hermione didn't want him to continue. A shred of her conversation with Lily was floating through her mind – I wish I could've brought him back…. Of course he wanted to protect the girl, she looked so much like Lily.

'Sirius Black,' Severus said, 'And that's all I'm going to – what's the matter, Hermione? Are you all right?'

'Oh my god,' she breathed, letting herself fall back on the rug with a thud and landing painfully right on her coccyx. 'Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.'

o


	11. Chapter 3 Part 4

'What's so urgent, darling

'What's so urgent, darling?' Harry's head, floating amidst the flames, grinned up at her. He took a bite of bread. 'We're just having dinner, could you-'

'Can the others hear you?'

The head briefly vanished, then returned. 'I don't think so. They're making too much of a racket. What's the matter, Hermione? You look terribly upset.'

'Well, I am. Listen, Harry, I need to talk to Lily.'

'Right, I'll go and fetch-'

'No!' Hermione cut him off. 'No, not like this. I need to talk to her in person, and I'd like you to be present. You, not Ginny.'

'All right, but what – Hermione, please tell me what happened! You look like you've seen a ghost, well, you have, in a manner of speaking, but…' He fell silent, frowning.

'I can't tell you now. Please, Harry, I know you want to ask a hundred questions, but please do what I'm telling you. Come to my office tomorrow with Lily.'

'Your office? Why can't you – okay, okay,' he said, looking worried but managing a smile at his friend. 'We'll be there. Ten a.m.?'

'Ten is fine.'

But nothing was fine. She'd have to interrogate her niece, and Harry would have to be present while his daughter spilled her innermost secrets.

It was, in fact, anything but fine.

o

'It's beautiful,' Ron said, scrunching up his eyes against the sun that had suddenly emerged from the clouds.

'Yes, it is.' Bill looked at his brother's broad back, a black silhouette against the bright glare of the midmorning sun. 'But I'm sure you haven't skived off work in the middle of the morning just to admire the view from my living room window.'

Ron sighed and turned to face Bill. 'No,' he said. Passing a hand over the stubbles on his cheek, he shook his head. 'No. I wanted to talk to you.'

'Hermione?'

'Yes, Hermione.'

Bill nodded. 'All right then, let's talk.' He motioned for Ron to follow him into the kitchen. 'Normally this would call for a beer or something stronger, but since you have to return to work, I suppose tea will have to do.'

'Yeah, I suppose so.'

They didn't talk while Bill was preparing their tea. Ron was leaning against the kitchen counter and watching his brother, who set another kettle full of water to boil after rinsing the teapot.

Bill had always been his favourite brother. They hadn't had much contact during Ron's childhood and school years, because Bill had started school at Hogwarts when Ron was three years old. In fact, there'd only ever been the school holidays and, later, Bill's brief visits at the Burrow. Still, Ron had always felt drawn to his eldest brother, and Bill hadn't let him down. He'd been fantastic when Ron stumbled into Shell Cottage after he'd left his two friends to search for Horcruxes on their own. Oh, he had told Ron exactly what he thought of such behaviour, but he'd understood, and he hadn't written off his younger brother as a total failure.

That had been the true beginning of their relationship, Ron felt. This was the one person in the world he could talk to about everything.

They returned to the living room and made themselves comfortable.

'So,' Bill said, 'Tell me about Hermione.'

'I'm not quite sure where to begin. It's such a mess, and has been such a mess for such a long time – it's like a bit of wool after the cat played with it. So tangled up you can't see where the thread begins or ends any more.'

'Sounds a lot like curse breaking. The really complex ones – so many layers and branches twining round each other that there's no beginning and no end. You have to start i_some_where /ithough. Otherwise you'd just keep standing there and staring at it, growing more afraid to touch it, and in the end all you can do is turn your back on it and give up.'

'That's exactly what I feel like doing,' Ron muttered.

'Get a divorce, you mean?'

'Divorce, separation, whatever. I just can't stand it anymore. It's Dad all over again – how could he bloody stand it? All that nagging and "Arthur do this" and "Arthur don't you dare do that", why didn't he just walk away?'

'I suppose you ought to ask dad. While I was still at home, before Hogwarts I mean, mum wasn't like that. It was later, when I'd already gone off to school, that I realized things weren't going too well. I suppose it was because of the war, what with dad being constantly in danger, while mum had to stay at home, looking after us. But if you want to know why he didn't leave, I'm afraid he's the only one who knows the answer.'

Ron nodded slowly. 'I know. I just… He looks so frail now, I somehow don't want to upset him.'

'Well' – Bill grinned briefly at his brother – 'maybe it wouldn't upset him. Maybe he's happy. You and dad… Your case histories, so to speak, are very different. It would be a mistake to project your own unhappiness onto him. But that's neither here nor there. You are unhappy, obviously, and that's what you're here to talk about.'

For a moment, the love Ron felt for his brother was so strong he thought he'd start to cry. He took a few hasty sips of tea in an attempt to compose himself.

'Yes, I am,' he finally said. 'And you know what's really bad? When I ask myself "Have I ever been really happy with Hermione?", I don't think the answer would be yes. Of course I was happy when the children were born, but that was because I loved them so much from the first moment I saw them. I'm not saying that Hermione doesn't love them, but as soon as she'd recovered all she was talking about was going back to work, and how to harmonize our schedules so one of us would always be there for the babies. There just wasn't time for any of us to sit down and enjoy and be happy.'

Bill listened attentively, tracing the rim of his teacup with the tip of his index finger. 'Do you think Hermione is happy?'

'I don't think happiness is something that counts for Hermione,' Ron said bitterly. 'Not mine, anyway.'

'Nonsense. Everybody wants to be happy. The problem lies in the fact that there are as many different definitions of happiness as there are people. What do you think is Hermione's definition of happiness?'

'Something to do with colour-coded time tables, probably.' He raked his fingers through his hair and shook his head. 'Honestly, I have no idea. She seems perfectly happy most of the time, except when we spend more than ten minutes in each other's company. Ten minutes seems about the time span it takes for her to fully notice me and my shortcomings. After that, the nagging starts. Sometimes' – he swallowed – 'sometimes I think she can't even stand the sight of me.'

'Hm.' Bill cocked his head and looked his brother up and down. 'You do look a bit seedy.'

'I was on night shift,' Ron said defensively, 'and I haven't shaved yet.'

'Oh, I see. Well, stubble wouldn't be that much of a problem, either. Easily removed. What about – sorry, I don't mean to pry – but what about your sex life?'

'Nonexistent. Mostly, that is. Last time we had sex was… Let me think… After the children went back to Hogwarts, I suppose. After that, nothing.'

'Good lord!' Bill exclaimed.

The brothers exchanged a look of male complicity.

'Have you ever, you know, cheated on her?'

'No.' Ron briefly looked over to the large window and at the bright blue sky, then back at his brother. 'I'm not going to tell you that I've never been tempted, in fact I've been tempted more than once, but… It's hard to explain. Hermione always thinks she has the moral high ground – if I cheated on her, that would really put me in the wrong.'

'If she found out.'

'No, not really. You see, when she's being self-righteous, there's still that part of me that can laugh at her, because she isn't a bloody saint, much though she tries to make everybody believe she is. If I cheated on her, that part would… die somehow, I suppose. I don't think I could cope with that. And as for finding out, of course she would. Or do you think I could outsmart Hermione?'

'Probably not,' Bill conceded. 'Mind you, I didn't mean to encourage you to start an affair or something. But no sex, that's downright miserable.'

'Yes and no. You see,' Ron said, pouring himself more tea, 'with all that nagging and preaching and patronizing, I sometimes feel as if Hermione was my mother, not my wife. That kind of kills my libido. I'm just an ordinary bloke, I don't have strange fantasies about fucking my mother or being tied to the bed and whipped.'

'Considering Hermione's personality, I guess it would have to be the other way round.'

'What?' Ron stared.

'I mean,' Bill explained, barely able to suppress a grin at his brother's dumbfounded expression, 'that women who are so tough and dominant often like that kind of sex games, where they've got to be submissive.'

'D'you think I ought to propose something like it?'

'Erm…' Bill shrugged. 'I have no idea. Would you be comfortable playing dominator?'

'No! That's just… It's just plain disgusting and… and pervy!'

'Lots of people do it. But I suppose there's no point suggesting it, unless you feel you'd like to play that kind of game. Plus, it's a trust issue. If your marriage isn't exactly harmonious, trying that kind of game might do more harm than good.'

'Yeah.' Ron nodded glumly. 'I guess she'd hex me right through the wall if I showed up with a paddle and suggested some mild spanking.'

'So what are you going to do?' Bill asked after a brief silence.

'Hard to say. The children are old enough now to understand – we could get divorced, I suppose. Hermione wouldn't make any trouble concerning the children, either, I'm sure we'd come to a reasonable agreement. Money isn't a problem, she earns a lot more than I do, so she'd have to pay me alimony – of course I'd never accept it. I'd like to keep the house, though. Not that I'm worried about Hermione wanting it, she pretty much lives at the Ministry.'

'Ron,' Bill said, looking his brother straight in the eye, 'you are aware, aren't you, that you've got the terms of a divorce pretty much finalized in your head? Looks as if that's what you want to do. You're not even thinking about saving the marriage, you're thinking about ending it and starting a new life!'

'Pretty bad, isn't it?' Ron attempted a smile, but it turned into a grimace.

'Whether it's good or bad doesn't matter. A divorce is neither good nor bad, it's a decision, just as trying to rescue your marriage would be. What I meant to say was, whichever decision you take, you have to be sure it's the right one for you. You have to do what you think is best for you, and of course Rose and Hugo. I like Hermione, I truly do, but if you don't think you want to be married to her anymore, then all you have to consider is your and your children's well-being. You think they'll understand, all right, get a divorce, by all means. But do me a favour, Ron: Think about it, and be honest with yourself.'

'I will. I promise.' Ron reached over and patted his brother's arm. 'It's a bit like cutting your hair, isn't it? Once it's gone, it's gone, so you better be sure you really want it to be short.'

'Your marriage is a messed-up ball of wool, and the divorce is a haircut. You're the Master of Metaphor, little brother.'

'About time somebody appreciated that talent,' Ron said cheerfully, aware that, had Hermione uttered those words, he would've felt insulted.


	12. Chapter 4 Part 1

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR

MY DUTY CLEAR

Since she'd started to work for Magical Law Enforcement, Hermione had had her fair share of tough decisions.

She still remembered how awful she'd felt when she'd arrested a young witch who'd cast Cruciatus on her husband, because he'd repeatedly raped and beaten her up. The woman had got a lifelong sentence to Azkaban.

She'd been miserable for days after questioning an elderly wizard, suspected of having poisoned his wife of fifty years – he'd turned out to be innocent in the end, because he had an alibi. In order to find out where he'd been at the time of the murder, she'd had to use Veritaserum and make him spill all his guilty secrets, his visits to ill-famed whorehouses, where he found satisfaction in licking boots and other practices, the detailed description of which had forced Hermione to leave the room and race to the toilet to vomit.

But never before had she hated her job.

When Harry had left her office together with Lily, Hermione felt so thoroughly disgusted with herself, her life and her job that she seriously considered getting completely drunk, so utterly plastered that she'd pass out right here and now, at her desk. Being unconscious would be a blessing, she thought.

Of course she couldn't do it. Today wasn't a holiday, and although only maybe half the staff had returned to work the day after Boxing Day, she couldn't afford to be found in her office, drunk and out cold.

It was quite simply unthinkable.

Hermione briefly contemplated Apparating home and getting drunk there, but the mere thought of having to face Snape made her dizzy with fury.

He'd given her clues, oh yes, but they'd led her to the wrong conclusion. That wouldn't have been so bad in itself – she'd hit a lot of dead ends in the course of her investigations, that was how things went, you just couldn't always hit on the right solution. Setbacks were part of her work, she'd learned to accept that.

But Lily… Lily was an altogether different matter.

Hermione closed her eyes and rested her head on her forearms. She'd betrayed the girl's trust – could she have interrogated her niece without Harry being present? Maybe she ought to have done just that, but she'd been so sure of the outcome of the interview, how could she have known?

Besides, she hadn't been entirely wrong.

She raised her head to glance at the transcript. The Dictoquill was still hovering next to the parchment; she'd forgotten to deactivate it and now did so with a weary wave of her hand. It was all there, gone cold now and reduced to mere words – the hurt and the incredulity, the outrage and, finally, the resignation.

H.W.: So you knew about the Resurrection Stone?

L.P.: Yes, I. I heard about it.

H.W.: When and where did you hear about it?

L.P.: I don't remember.

H.P.: Lily, you have to tell Hermione. It's important, really important. Please.

L.P.: No, I can't.

H.P.: Lily, darling

L.P.: Leave me alone, dad! Just fucking leave me alone!

H.W.: Why can't you tell us, Lily? Are you afraid the person who told you might be punished?

L.P.: No.

H.W.: Did you obtain the information by eavesdropping or talking to somebody you're not supposed to talk to?

L.P.: No, no! It's worse, and I can't tell you! You can't make me!

H.W.: Lily, this information is so vital, I would have to make you tell me. I don't want to, I really don't, but if I have no other choice

L.P.: Then at least tell him to leave the room.

H.W.: All right. Harry, would you

H.P.: I dunno. Lily, you know, don't you, that I love you, no matter what you did. I'm sure we can

L.P.: Just go! Please dad, just go.

H.P.: All right. You'll call me back in once you

H.W.: Of course, Harry. Thanks.

H.P. leaves the room.

H.W.: Well then, Lily. Can you tell me now, please?

L.P.: Why did you have to tell dad? It was a secret, and I trusted you, and you betrayed me, you, you bitch!

H.W.: Lily, I'm

L.P.: Don't tell me you're sorry, I don't care if you're sorry. I don't need your hypocrisy and your fake pity. You're a cold-hearted, cruel bitch, mum's right, you don't love me, you don't love anybody!

H.W.: That's quite enough, young lady. You hate me, point taken. Now tell me how you came by the information about the Resurrection Stone.

L.P.: How can I be sure you won't tell dad?

H.W.: I can imagine how it must sound to you, but you'll have to trust me. Or do you think I'd have told him about anything about our conversation, unless I had a very good reason? If the matter wasn't so important, do you really believe I would've been ready to betray your confidence?

L.P.: I don't know.

H.W.: Well, you'll have to take my word for it.

L.P.: All right. It doesn't matter anyway. The stone wasn't there anymore. Call dad, I don't care what he thinks of me.

H.W.: Are you sure?

L.P.: I'm not stupid, all right? If I tell you I don't care, I don't care.

H.W.: Okay then.

H.W. leaves the room.

H.W. and H.P. enter the room.

L.P.: Last year, when it rained so much during the summer holidays, I was bored. I knew dad kept his memories in the cabinet in his study. I thought looking at them might be interesting. I was so bored, I didn't realize going through his things was wrong. I merely wanted to do something interesting.

H.P.: You managed to break my wards?

L.P.: It wasn't that difficult. I suppose it would be difficult for someone who doesn't know you that well, but I know how your mind works. It still took me three days.

H.W.: That's pretty impressive. So that's how you found out about the Stone?

L.P.: Yes. The Stone, the wand, the Invisibility Cloak, everything. I saw how dad used it to bring back grandma, and granddad, and Sirius. That's the first time I ever saw Sirius. That's how it happened, how I

H.W.: Fell in love. I can imagine. So why didn't you attempt to bring him back earlier? You waited more than a year.

L.P.: I was afraid of the forest. I just didn't dare. If only I had

H.P.: It would have been a disappointment, believe me, Lily. Didn't you see that they weren't really alive, when they came back to help me? Sirius would've been little more than a shadow. Bringing him back wouldn't have made you happy.

L.P.: How do you know what would've made me happy? Don't be so patronizing!

H.W.: One more question, Lily. How did you try to find the stone?

L.P.: Well, I'd seen where exactly dad had dropped it. And he'd told Dumbledore that he'd left it there, so it still had to be there, didn't it? Only it wasn't. Somebody had found it before I did. I know somebody found it, I suppose they used a summoning spell. There was a hole, no that's not quite right. The dead leaves on the ground looked like a miniature volcano, a small mountain with a hole on top. The ring had been underneath the leaves, and somebody had summoned it. That's how it looked.

H.W.: So you went back to the school. Did anybody see you?

L.P.: I don't know. Maybe one of the centaurs, but I'm not sure. I think I heard somebody move close by. I was terrified, I didn't look, just ran away, out of the Forbidden Forest.

Hermione massaged her temples in an attempt to fight off a beginning headache. It was obvious, really – why hadn't she thought of it earlier? If she'd gone to the centaurs in the first place, instead of wasting precious time questioning people…

She'd have to go tomorrow. Going today was out of the question, she just didn't feel up to it. Tomorrow morning, then, because she'd invited Malfoy and Harry to come to dinner tomorrow night.

She really ought to plan that dinner. You didn't invite Lucius Malfoy and not plan dinner. Then again, she had a House Elf. Binky was a first-rate elf, up to any challenge. She'd tell Binky what she wanted – something elegant, but not too fancy, and Binky would do it exactly right. Knowing Binky, she'd probably use the House Elf grapevine to find out about Malfoy's favourite food.

Yes, that was exactly what she was going to do. Just this once, because she was sick and tired of herself and her life, and really couldn't be arsed to waste a thought on what to feed that conceited bastard Malfoy.

o

Memories of her early days as founder, president and sole member of S.P.E.W. still made Hermione cringe.

Now a veteran of many a battle fought for the rights of magical creatures, she was only too aware of how naïve and, most of all, narrow-minded and, yes, arrogant she'd been back then.

While it was all right to fight for animal rights without asking the poor creatures whether they really wanted you to fight for them, because they had no way of telling you, assuming that magical creatures wanted you to be the advocate of their cause was the wrong thing to do. It sent the wrong message – the message was, in fact, the opposite of what you meant it to be. Campaigning for the freedom of House Elves without previously asking their opinion on freedom meant that you thought of them the way you thought of animals.

Bane the Centaur had made that clear to her, and none too politely, when she had started her crusade for centaurs becoming eligible for seats in the Wizengamot. She'd gone to talk to them, but only after she'd written a flaming letter to Kingsley and been mildly reprimanded by the Minister. She'd expected the centaurs to share her righteous indignation – her surprise at the less than favourable reaction had been a big disappointment.

But she'd learned her lesson. She'd come back to apologize, and pardon had been granted, if reluctantly.

She still had doubts as to how Bane, now head of the tribe of centaurs living in the Forbidden Forest, was going to take her request for information.

A little chat with Minerva, before she went to find Bane, would have been just the thing she needed, but the headmistress had gone to visit her family – she was the only unmarried of eight siblings, so there was more than enough family – and wasn't expected back until the beginning of the New Year. There was no way Hermione could wait that long.

She wasn't in the best of moods. She'd returned home late last night after spending most of the day dawdling at the office, her pseudo-work interrupted only by a maudlin lunch she'd eaten all by herself. She'd managed a brief but civil conversation with Severus, dodging the questions he'd asked her.

Ron had come home shortly after her; he, too, had been taciturn and unapproachable. Much to Hermione's surprise, he'd struck up a conversation with Severus, deliberately shutting her out, or so it seemed. He'd glanced over at her from time to time, as if he meant to tell her something, but she really hadn't been in the mood to find out.

Binky had received her orders concerning tonight's dinner with such enthusiasm that Hermione immediately felt mortified – she didn't give her House Elf half as much work as the poor thing would've liked, and Binky probably felt frustrated and unappreciated. Well, Hermione was going to heap her with compliments tonight.

Right now though, she had to convince Bane that she needed a witness.

Not a walker by nature, Hermione nonetheless felt the calming effect of her stroll from the Hogwarts gates over to the Whomping Willow and down to the Forbidden Forest. She'd half-expected to feel aroused again, like she'd been a week ago, but evidently it hadn't been a reaction to the unaccustomed movement. The sensation was still there, whenever she paused long enough to actually feel her body, but it seemed to be hibernating.

Maybe it was better that way – the centaurs' olfactory sense was highly developed. Still, she felt slightly disappointed. It had been a good feeling, all things considered.

When she'd reached the edge of the forest, she called for Bane.

Ten minutes later she was on the verge of giving up – if a centaur didn't feel like talking to you, you might call until you were blue in the face, and he still wouldn't come – but decided to wait a bit longer, because she thought she heard a faint, faraway noise of hooves.

She'd been right. Suddenly he was standing there, calm and statue-like, his unwavering gaze never leaving her eyes.

'Bane. Thank you for coming.'

'You are welcome. What do you want, Hermione Weasley?'

She sighed. This was going to be difficult. 'I need your help, Bane.'

The centaur listened attentively, while she explained her need to find the centaur or centaurs who might know about the Resurrection Stone.

'I wouldn't dream of bothering your people with problems that don't concern you. But I can't risk telling too many people about the Stone. Two people knew about it, and both wanted to use it. You know how humans are, we have trouble letting go of the dead.'

Bane bowed his head. 'You have learned a lot, Hermione Weasley. You are wiser than most humans I have met. Wait here. I shall be back shortly.'

Her toes were getting cold, and she couldn't feel her ears anymore. Centaurs had a strong dislike of human magic, therefore she had to renounce casting a warming charm, much as she would have liked to. But being cold was less important than getting the answer to her burning questions. And if she caught cold and had to greet Malfoy with a red, runny nose, well, she'd have to survive it. Besides there was such a thing as Pepper-Up. She always stocked up on medicinal potions before the children came home. A school holiday without a tummy bug or a cold or a broken limb was a platonic ideal at best, but certainly nothing she expected to happen anytime soon.

By the time Bane returned with two other centaurs, one white-haired and one very young with auburn hair, Hermione's teeth were chattering.

'This is Hermione Weasley,' Bane said, and they bowed to her.

She did the same. 'Has Bane told you why I'm here?'

The two centaurs nodded. 'Yes,' said the old one. 'Roderick here' – he nodded towards the young male, who blushed – 'saw the foal. He was afraid she might come to harm, so deep in the forest, therefore he followed her.'

Hermione bowed to the young centaur and gave him an encouraging smile. 'That was very kind of you. She is my husband's sister's daughter, I am very glad that you took such good care of her.'

The three centaurs nodded gravely.

'I saw the other female,' the old centaur continued, 'the day after the first snow. She was trespassing, and I meant to give her a slight arrow wound, but before I could do so, she wasn't alone anymore. She had summoned a shadow. I have never seen such a thing happen, old though I am. It was both marvellous and frightening.'

'She called a dead man back into life,' Hermione said.

'It is unnatural and revolting.'

'I agree. And it is also dangerous. That's why I'm here, to prevent it from happening again.'

'Then you might want me to give you this.' The centaur hooked a thumb under the leather strap crossing his chest and ducked slightly, to remove his quiver. Careful not to spill the arrows it contained, he shook the ring out of it and handed it to Hermione.

Her heart was thumping so hard now that she didn't feel cold anymore. 'I don't know how to thank you. I am deeply in your debt. May I ask one more question?'

'One more,' Bane growled, his front hooves dancing impatiently in the snow.

'Thank you. Did you recognize the woman – her voice, her face, anything?'

'She was wearing a hooded cloak. She was quite tall, much taller than you, Hermione Weasley. She moved gracefully. She had beautiful hands, slim and long-fingered. And her voice was silvery, like the music of a fountain. It was not the voice of a girl.'

'You heard her speak? What did she say?'

Bane shot her a look of annoyed indulgence. 'This is the last question you are allowed to ask, Hermione Weasley.'

'I'm sorry. Thank you, Bane.'

'She said "Severus! But I wanted Sirius!" The ghost-man seemed very unhappy.'

'Given their story, I suppose he was.' Hermione turned to Bane. 'I know that you aren't interested in the pursuits of humans. But believe me, Bane, you have done me and my fellow wizards an invaluable service today. I'm not sure I can repay it, but whatever you ask of me, I will endeavour to give you.'

The centaurs nodded and bowed to her a last time, then turned in a whirl of snow and galloped off into the Forbidden Forest.

o

The house was so clean that Hermione almost felt uncomfortable; the table was set magnificently, the bar had been stocked up, and a rich red wine was sitting in a decanter on the sideboard, flanked by more bottles of the same excellent vintage.

Hermione, who'd felt that she had to dress up, in order to meet the standard Binky had set, was pacing back and forth in the living room.

'You're making me dizzy,' Severus said. 'It's just Lucius, why are you fretting so much?'

'I'm not fretting, I'm excited.' Hermione glared at him, without discernible result. 'I'm practically bursting with news, and I can't wait to deliver them. The fact that Harry won't arrive until half past seven doesn't make it better.'

Severus shrugged. 'I appreciate the thought, but I suppose Lucius and I will have enough time to catch up some other day.'

'I know.' Hermione's heel caught in the fringe of the rug, and she almost stumbled. 'I know. But I hadn't yet received the information yesterday, had I?'

'If you say so.' Severus quirked an eyebrow. 'You haven't seen fit to tell me anything, not that you've exactly been talkative these last days, but…'

'Oh, stop it already. You're going to hear it all tonight, so there's no reason for you to behave-'

The doorbell rang.

'Punctual as always.' Severus smirked.

'Do I look – oh, sod it!' she snapped when he snorted.

Malfoy was both punctual and impeccably attired for the occasion. Informal robes with just the right touch of elegance to give his hostess the impression that, yes, he appreciated the invitation but didn't want to strut into her humble abode apparelled for a state dinner.

That, Hermione mused while muttering her thanks for the flowers he'd brought, was probably why Malfoy was invited to so many gatherings. He had the gift of social adaptability. He never looked out of place, because he knew the rules of the game. Hermione, who was never quite sure whether she wasn't overdressed or underdressed, and who had to endure agonies of self-doubt when she'd accepted an invitation from somebody she didn't know well, felt a pang of envy.

He kissed her hand today; it was the first time he'd ever done so, she realized. Shaking off a vague sense of satisfaction, she bade him follow her.

Whatever she'd expected the meeting of two ex-Death Eaters to be like, she certainly hadn't imagined them to behave as if they'd last seen each other yesterday.

'Severus,' Malfoy said, shaking the other wizard's hand with a broad grin, 'how was afterlife?'

'Overrated,' Severus replied, and both laughed.

'Madam Weasley seems to have taken good care of you. You actually look human.'

'You didn't exactly look thriving either, last time we saw each other.'

'No, I probably didn't. But then living under the same roof as Voldemort and Bella would drive the bravest among us to distraction. To say nothing of that snake; it took the House Elves months to get the stink out of the carpets.'

'I know,' was the dry answer. 'The bloody beast killed me, after all.'

'So it did.'

There was a brief silence.

'Aperitif, anybody?' Hermione asked, trying not to sound too cheerful. Talking of death with somebody who'd actually died probably was a challenge even for somebody as apt at tackling embarrassing situations as Malfoy.

'How's Narcissa?' Severus asked, once they'd settled down with their drinks.

Malfoy shot Hermione a quick sideways glance, which she answered with an imperceptible shake of her head.

'Draco tells me she's fine. In spite of her frequent complaints about the dry climate of the Provence, which she seems to think causes the skin to age prematurely.'

Severus shot Hermione a deadly glare that brought back forgotten memories of Potions Classes. 'You didn't tell me! Why didn't you tell me, it would have made things… oh, never mind.'

'You didn't ask, did you?' she replied tartly, slightly puzzled at his obvious irritation. What was it to him, whether Malfoy was still married or not?

'It was divorce, a substantial monthly allowance and the chateau in the Provence, or Azkaban,' Malfoy explained amicably. 'Not the toughest of choices, given the alternatives.'

'Well,' Severus said pensively, 'Considering her fears for her complexion, I'm not so sure. The air is cold and moist in Azkaban, that's supposed to be better for the skin.'

'I don't think Narcissa would have considered rheumatism an adequate price for flawless skin.'

'There's that,' Severus said. 'Besides she'd seen you after your year in Azkaban. That probably didn't encourage her to go there.'

'It's hardly fair to bring that up. Back when I was languishing in that awful place, they allowed one shower per week! Can you imagine? And we had to use household soap.'

'For washing your hair too?' Hermione asked, aghast.

'Of course. I won't tell you it was worse than the Dementors, because it wasn't, but once they'd gone, I realized that the soap was a close second.'

'I thought the food was worse,' Severus chimed in.

'Of course you did, old chap. You used to rub oil into your hair, and the first time you heard about conditioner, you thought it had to do with grammar.'

Hermione snickered.

Severus glared.

'It's much better now, though,' Malfoy said magnanimously.

'He's using my hair care products,' Hermione said. 'They're diminishing at an alarming rate.'

'Hmm.' Malfoy put down his glass, got up and went over to Severus.

Ignoring his friend's lethal stares (useless, because he was standing behind the chair) and attempts at swatting away his hands, he took a strand of black hair between thumb and index finger to examine it.

'You ought to buy your own, Severus. These products are specifically made for hair like Madam Weasley's, to tame frizz and turn it into pretty curls. A task' – he smiled at Hermione – 'they fulfil quite admirably. But you have fine, straight hair. It goes all limp.'

He returned to his chair, sat down and sipped at his whisky, unheeding of Severus's growing desperation.

'I shall send an elf tomorrow, with a few bottles of the product line I use.'

Severus bared his teeth. 'Don't you use camomile or something, for the blondness?'

Malfoy tsk-ed. 'Heaven forbid! That would give it a yellowish tinge and totally destroy the Malfoy colouring. No, no, you ought to use it. You'll be astonished once you see the effect.' He crossed his legs and turned to Hermione. 'When did you start to wear your hair short?'

Severus's relief at his hair not being the topic of the conversation anymore was so palpable that she laughed out loud. Malfoy had seen it, too, and was grinning into his glass.

'A very similar, although less traumatic experience than the one you made in Azkaban. I was already a senior Law Enforcer and had to lead a whole squad – you remember the attempted robbery at Gringotts some years ago?'

Malfoy nodded. Severus looked a little forlorn. Both men's glasses were empty, and she went to refill them.

'We had to stay in this seedy Muggle hotel for a week, observing the suspects. Apparating strictly forbidden, I had to be there the whole time, and I'd forgotten to pack my hair things. So I had to use shower gel, which, compared to household soap, was certainly an improvement. No conditioner though. In the end, it was so tangled and disgusting I decided to cut it off.'

'Speaking of hair,' Malfoy said, 'Draco's hairline is receding. He tries to hide it by parting his hair and combing it over his forehead, but there's nothing for it – it's as plain as a Hippogriff in a flock of tooth fairies.'

'Must be Narcissa's genes,' Severus said sympathetically. 'Malfoys don't have a tendency towards baldness, do they?'

'Of course not.' Malfoy sniffed indignantly. 'It's a shame, really. One can only hope that Scorpius will take after Pansy. Only as far as the hair is concerned, obviously.'

'You might try and sue Narcissa, for messing up the gene pool,' Severus suggested.

'Interesting thought. Unfortunately, she's the last surviving Black – if Sirius were still alive and going bald, that would considerably increase my chances. There are portraits of her ancestors, of course, but you know how it is with artistic license. Considering the famous Black temper, they wouldn't have dared paint them as they were. Just think of Narcissa's Aunt Asmodea, may she burn in eternity. Her face was full of warts, frightful to behold, really, and look at the portrait in the family home. Not one wart.'

'True,' Hermione said. 'But the portrait makes up in foul-mouthedness what it lacks in warts.'

She fell silent and studied her fingernails, letting the sound of the two male voices wash past her ears. Something had flitted through her brain, something small and sharp, but she had failed to grab hold of it. Try as she might, she was unable to bring it back. It had been important, she was sure.

Then Binky came in to announce that Harry had arrived, and when she went to hug her friend, even the vague feeling of her close miss had gone away completely.

o

After the Battle of Hogwarts, Ron and Hermione had been equally surprised at Harry's marked lack of enmity towards the Malfoys.

When the trio had gone back to school, Draco had been there, too – a very changed, subdued Draco, who didn't boast and prance and preen anymore. He'd still been a total prat, who seemed to have forgotten that the three had saved his life. Then again, he'd saved Harry's, back when they'd been held prisoners at Malfoy Manor, and so had Narcissa during the battle of Hogwarts.

And Harry had seen enough of Lucius Malfoy at the times when his mind had been directly connected to Voldemort's. After the battle, when mentioning the mental link didn't drive his two friends to fits of anxiety anymore, he'd told them more about what he'd seen, and tried to make them understand his attitude of indifference towards the Malfoys.

Hermione had understood, in a way. In the end, it was justice that counted, not vengeance. Malfoy senior had been in prison, and the year following his stay in Azkaban had probably been a punishment more severe than anything the Wizengamot could have inflicted upon him. Narcissa had been banned for life from British territory, and Draco had learned his lesson most thoroughly.

It was Ron who'd gone on and on about how the Malfoys didn't deserve to live, and if they were allowed to keep their life, they ought at least to be stripped of rank and fortune, and forced to work for ten knuts a day. Harry and Hermione had very sensibly pointed out that expropriating the Malfoy assets would mean lots of jobless witches and wizards and a devaluation of the British Galleon, because the family owned or held shares in all the important wizarding companies, but Ron refused to hear reason.

Hermione had known better than to tell him that Lucius Malfoy was to be her dinner guest tonight.

Harry entered the room and shook hands with both Malfoy and Severus, accepted a glass of whisky and sat down on the sofa next to Hermione.

'Your health, professor,' he said, lifting his tumbler in Severus's direction. 'You've been causing us quite a bit of trouble.'

'Hermione hasn't seen fit to inform me of the latest developments,' Severus replied, a bit stiffly. 'What kind of trouble exactly have I been causing, if I may be so bold as to ask?'

She looked from one black-haired wizard to the other. 'I think we first have to bring Mr Malfoy up to date. Have you made your mind up, Harry?'

'Yes, I think I have. Mr Malfoy, Hermione told me about the manuscript – if you haven't tried to find the Deathly Hallows so far… You know more about these artefacts than we ever did, and you don't seem to have shown any interest in acquiring them. I think it's safe to tell you.'

'Believe me, I feel honoured by your trust,' Malfoy said, and Hermione wasn't quite sure whether he was being ironic or serious. 'And I do like a good story.'

'Maybe,' Hermione said, giving Harry's shoulder an affectionate squeeze and standing up, 'we ought to tell the story over dinner. It's quite long, and I, for one, am hungry.'

So they went over to the table and enjoyed Binky's superb cooking accompanied by a few bottles of excellent wine, while Harry and Hermione took turns telling the other two the tale of their quest for both Hallows and Horcruxes. Malfoy provided bits of information on the ancient ritual and the Peverells.

'So why didn't you destroy the Elder Wand?' Malfoy asked Harry, when Binky had served dessert and retired.

'Because I was seventeen and had just beaten the most evil wizard of all times in a duel. Because I thought it was unnecessary. Because I felt it was an act of impiety towards Dumbledore and Snape, to destroy something they'd given their lives for. I just couldn't do it.'

Severus muttered something that suspiciously sounded like "Gryffindor sentimentality" and then said aloud, 'Well, you ought to do it now.'

'Yes, I know. I'll do it, although… It still doesn't seem right. But recent events have taught me – never mind. I'll do it. Which doesn't solve the problem of the Stone…'

'Wait until you've heard my bit,' Hermione said and told them the story of her meeting with the centaurs. She had the satisfaction of seeing three powerful wizards gape at her. 'But I'm not sure,' she concluded, putting down her spoon and leaning back, 'how to destroy the stone. The wand is easy, you merely have to break it, and there's no way you can mend it. But the stone?'

'As far as I can judge,' Malfoy said pensively, 'it may be called a stone, but it isn't a stone like, say, a diamond or an amethyst. It is a substance, concocted Merlin knows how by the Peverell brothers. A synthetic stone that was probably a liquid of some kind before it cooled down and hardened. I daresay it would be possible to simply melt it down and mix it with…' He looked at Severus.

Severus wagged his head. 'Depends on the ingredients. Molten lead comes to mind, of course, because lead insulates magical energy. Provided it is possible to melt the stone, mixing it with liquid lead ought to do the job. Then wait until it's solidified again, and drop it into the sea. Even in case somebody finds it, it would be impossible to separate the original substance from the lead.'

'Et voilà, we saved the world again,' Malfoy pronounced, raising his glass.

'May I remind you,' Severus growled, 'that last time we saved the world, you weren't exactly part of the team?'

'Don't be so pusillanimous, old friend. It's the intention that counts.'

'Exactly my point,' Severus said, but he was smiling.

Evidently keen to switch topics, Malfoy turned to Harry. 'That was quite a nasty story Skeeter brought up about a week ago in the Prophet,' he said. 'I must say, I was quite surprised not to see more of it. Has Kingsley called her to heel?'

'What story?' Severus asked.

Harry told him about the article accusing him of wanting to cheat the Ministry out of the Black assets. 'I had no idea the property was entailed to the male heir,' he concluded. 'And I certainly didn't know that it falls to the Ministry, in case there is none. Snape, what's the matter? You look as if you'd seen a ghost!'

That was the moment the coin dropped. Hermione slapped her forehead with her palm and leaned forward to stare at Severus. 'It was Narcissa, wasn't it?'

The other two seemed to have difficulties following her.

'Madam Weasley,' Malfoy said, 'Do you think you might deign to explain – oh, I see. Of course. Narcissa wouldn't have wanted the family property to fall into the Ministry's hands. But I wonder who told her about the Stone?'

'Phineas Nigellus,' Harry said tonelessly.

'I beg your pardon?'

'Phineas Nigellus,' he repeated. 'Before Narcissa had to leave for France, she wrote me a letter, asking whether I'd allow her to retrieve a few family heirlooms from Grimmauld Place. I told her there wasn't much left after Mundungus had as good as cleaned out the house, but she was of course free to take whatever she wanted. I accompanied her there, it was a rather sad affair. She was beside herself… I felt sorry for her, because there was practically nothing left. So she merely took the portrait of Phineas Nigellus and a few photos.'

'That doesn't make sense,' Malfoy said. 'The Prophet brought the story shortly before Christmas, but Severus has been back since early November.'

'Whether it makes sense or not,' Severus said, 'it was Narcissa. Believe me, I know it was her.'

Frowning, Hermione stared at a spoonful of Crème Brûlée. 'Who else knew about Kingsley's plans?' she asked Harry.

'Not too many people.' Harry pushed up his glasses. 'Me, of course, and probably Percy. And the Wizengamot people – he'd started talking to them a while ago, he told me.'

'I could name a few,' Lucius remarked, 'whose discretion isn't worth a sickle. Incidentally, some of those are closely acquainted with Rita.'

Hermione nodded. 'So it does make sense after all. I'm sure Skeeter learned all about Kingsley's plans a while ago. Given her feelings towards Harry, she was probably desperate to find something, anything she might use to start a defamation campaign. Remember the bit in her book about Dumbledore's "unnatural relationship" with Harry? I bet she meant to write something about Harry's relationship with Sirius, but instead she came across that inheritance business. Narcissa is the only surviving Black, so Skeeter must have contacted her. And Narcissa was of course aware that the story was bound to appear in the papers sooner or later. She couldn't afford to lose time.'

'And Phineas, that plot-hatching bastard,' Harry said grimly, 'told her it was possible to bring Sirius back. He'd overheard me telling Dumbledore's portrait about the stone. He didn't know that it would lead to nothing, because Sirius wouldn't have been alive in a sense that allowed him to reclaim the property.'

'Plausible though all this sounds, especially since Severus confirmed it was indeed Narcissa,' Lucius said, 'it still doesn't make sense to me. If Narcissa meant to summon Sirius Black, why did Severus turn up instead of him?'

Three heads turned to look at the Potions Master. Severus fiddled with his spoon.

'The, erm, door, for lack of a better expression, opened, and I slipped through. Black was busy talking to somebody else, so he didn't hear the call.'

Harry's voice was hoarse when he asked, 'Are you saying that Sirius could be sitting at this table now, having dinner with us?'

'I doubt he would have been able to find out about the Draught. But it is a possibility, yes.'

'You… You…'

'Harry,' Hermione said, putting her hand over his. 'I'm sure Severus meant no harm.'

Severus gave her a wan smile. 'I thought I was doing both of us a favour. As I said, he was busy talking to people. It was his turn, he was about to go to the other side and he was saying goodbye.'

'What other side?' Harry snapped irritably.

'I don't know, Potter,' Severus said quietly. 'It was what everybody was waiting for. You felt you wanted to go there as soon as you arrived in limbo. There were millions of shadows, eager to go through that door. But it was impossible to even get close, unless you felt you'd been called. Black had been called, and he was happy. I thought…' He shrugged and fell silent.

For a long while, the crackling of the flames and the occasional pop of a bursting piece of still-moist wood were the only sounds in the room. Even Malfoy was looking grave.

Hermione broke the silence. 'Is it a happy place they go to?'

'I don't know. But it has to be better than this continuous yearning, that… thirst you feel whenever you look at the door.'

'So now he's really gone,' Harry said, his voice breaking.

Hermione, too, felt like crying, but did her best to fight the urge. 'Don't you think he deserved to go to that place, if he wanted it so badly?'

'Yes, I… Excuse me,' Harry muttered, 'I have to be alone for a while.' He got up so hastily that he almost overthrew his chair and left the room.

'A conversation killer, if ever I saw one,' Malfoy said.

Hermione made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. 'Death usually is, you unfeeling brute. Look at Severus, he's pretty downcast, too.'

'Ah, but he's the culprit, he ought to be.'

'Your wife is the culprit! She thought she could play God, and for what? For a miserable, decrepit pile of old stones!'

'Ex-wife, Madam Weasley. And I admit that resuscitating the dead in order to save that gloomy old place was taking things a bit far. But Narcissa never was the most rational of creatures. You'll have to pay her a visit, won't you?'

'I suppose I will, so I can close the case and present it to Kingsley.'

'May I offer to accompany you? Narcissa can be quite recalcitrant, if only to spite people, and I think I may be able to help.'

'I want to come too,' Severus said, suddenly perking up. 'I want to give her the fright of a lifetime, for having dropped me in the poo like this.'

Malfoy arched a blond brow. 'What admirable sentiments. So, shall we say tomorrow? An outing to France, just the three of us?'

o


	13. Chapter 4 Part 2

Men, Hermione thought, were strange and deeply disturbing creatures

Men, Hermione thought, were strange and deeply disturbing creatures.

Take last night, for example: when Harry had re-entered the room, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy, he'd told Severus that he'd never forgive him, and then proceeded to throw insults at Malfoy, who obviously had to play default victim because of Narcissa's conspicuous absence.

Hermione had managed to calm him down, she'd apologized to her other guests, who didn't seem overly hurt by the future Minister of Magic's insults, and the group of four had retired to the fireplace, so as to partake of coffee and brandy.

So far, Hermione thought, women would have acted pretty much the same.

Had there been witches grouped around her fireplace instead of wizards, there would have been hugs and chocolate, alcohol and soul-searching, tears and more chocolate, mounds of used Kleenex, tearful assurances of eternal friendship and, the following morning, squeals of anxiety once confronting a mirror became inevitable.

With three blokes in her living room, there'd been brandy and silence, followed by more brandy and the occasional snort, after which there'd been more brandy and dirty jokes. Then, there'd been some more brandy and tearful assurances of eternal friendship.

Harry and Malfoy would probably have crashed on her sofa, but Hermione – who'd had more brandy than was really good for her – had been heartless enough (Malfoy's words) to turn two empty wine bottles into Portkeys and dispatch them to their respective homes post haste. She really didn't feel like justifying Lucius Malfoy snoring on her couch to her husband. Before following the siren call of her bed, she'd levitated Severus into the guest room and onto the bed, where she'd managed to take off his shoes and open the collar of his shirt.

Then she'd stumbled off to the bathroom (nothing short of a nuclear bomb having destroyed all the toothbrushes in the world justified going to bed without brushing your teeth), uttered a piercing squeal at the sight of herself in the mirror, and dropped on her bed, fully clothed.

She didn't remember having set the alarm, but obviously habit had triumphed over drunkenness, because it woke her at seven. One hour to go before Ron returned from work. Even the roots of her teeth seemed to be nursing bad hangovers. Not to mention the roots of her hair.

There'd been a time, about ten years ago, when Ron had been drinking a bit more than was good for him. After much prodding and prying, he'd confessed that there'd been an incident at work – he'd mistakenly hit a fellow Auror with Petrificus Totalus, which wouldn't have been a problem, had not the unlucky guy's head hit the edge of a stone wall when he went down. He'd survived the severe cranial trauma, but been found unfit to continue service as an Auror.

Pointing out to Ron that drinking wasn't likely to improve his aim hadn't yielded any result. In the end, she'd had the brilliant inspiration of confiscating Ron's hangover potion. One single instance of appearing at the breakfast table, having to face his children in a post-alcoholic daze, had been enough to cure him. Or maybe it had been Hermione's threat that next time, she wasn't going to tell Rose and Hugo that Daddy had caught the flu.

Since then, hangover potion had never been in stock at the Weasley household.

Hermione might have been able to cope with her own misery, but felt unable to face a hung-over Severus. So she sent Binky off to buy two vials of the potion, while she treated herself to a long, hot shower. Binky, bless her soul, had put the vial on the edge of the basin, and she gulped the pale-pink concoction down as soon as she'd stepped out of the shower.

Yes, a trip to France didn't seem like such a daunting prospective anymore.

She tiptoed into Severus's room and put the other vial on his nightstand.

If she'd been naïve enough to think that a day which had started with the mother of all hangovers could only get better, she'd been sadly mistaken.

Hermione was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and smiling to herself because she'd just heard Severus open the bathroom door and was therefore able to mentally check the box next to "Make sure Severus wakes up in time". They'd agreed to meet at nine a.m. at the Manor for breakfast, because Malfoy – while still able to talk coherently – had assured them that meeting his recalcitrant ex-wife on an empty stomach was not a good idea.

So far, everything was going just fine.

It was probably an unfair thing to say, even to oneself in the privacy of one's mind, but things were definitely starting to go downhill when Ron came home after his nightshift.

He poured himself some coffee and sat down at the table, expressing a strong and immediate desire for scrambled eggs on toast, with maybe two or three slices of bacon. Instead of preparing his breakfast herself, as she usually did, Hermione called Binky and delegated the task to her.

The contrast between Binky's radiant and Ron's sour expression was quite something to behold, she thought.

Since she was merely too lazy to do the cooking – besides, the mere thought of a raw egg made her want to throw up – but didn't mean to avoid her husband, she got herself another cup of coffee and sat down opposite Ron, smiling encouragingly.

'I talked to Bill yesterday,' Ron said, not looking at her.

'Oh, that's nice. How is Bill? And Fleur?'

'They're okay, I guess.'

'You guess? I thought you talked to him – didn't you ask him if everything was fine?'

Ron put down his cup. He hadn't gone beet red yet, but he was a bit flushed. 'Why are you so interested in Bill?'

'I…' Not quite up yet to his antagonism – there was still too little caffeine and too much residue alcohol in her system – Hermione merely shrugged. 'I'm not particularly interested. You told me you saw Bill, I inquired whether everything was well. It's the polite thing to do, isn't it?'

'Of course you're not interested. You're never interested in my family!'

The hangover was still lingering, making Hermione a bit twitchy. 'Listen. If you mean to tell me something, please feel free to do so. If you don't, stay quiet and don't try to pick a fight. What's the matter? Did you have problems at work?'

'No! Of course I didn't have problems at work. I'm merely attempting to have a conversation.'

'So was I. But since you don't seem to appreciate my efforts, why don't you try and start one?'

'Bill thinks we ought to get divorced.'

This sentence alone contained at least, well, three good reasons for her to punch him in the face, empty her coffee cup over his head and leave the table. But Hermione wasn't particularly fond of physical aggression. Neither was she fond of verbal aggression.

So she remained completely calm and merely said, 'Ah.'

'Is that all you have to say? Ah?'

'Certainly not. But I hardly think the statement "Bill thinks we ought to get divorced" deserves an answer. You'll have to give me more details, I'm afraid.'

'What else is there to be said? I talked to him about our marriage, and how I felt about it, and he thought we ought to get divorced. Is that better?'

'Marginally.' She took a sip of coffee. 'And what about you? Any thoughts on the matter? Or is Bill's expertise sufficient?'

'Well, I think the same, obviously.'

'Obviously.'

Binky served breakfast and cast an anxious look at the Mistress of the House. Hermione answered with a brief nod, and the Elf scuttled off.

'So,' she said, 'you probably want to keep the house, don't you?'

That, she noticed with a good deal of satisfaction, had been unexpected.

'Well, I… I hadn't thought that far…'

He was looking a bit shifty. Of course he'd thought that far, the lying coward.

'Oh, but you should. And you also ought to talk to the children, prepare them, you know. Maybe it would be a good idea to tell your parents too, we don't want to give them a nasty shock, do we? And Ginny – poor Ginny, she'll be so disappointed.' Resting her chin on her palm, she glanced up at the ceiling. 'I wonder… is there anybody else you should tell? Or maybe share your thoughts with? Because I think you ought to get more than one opinion, just to be on the safe side – not mine, of course, but the opinion of somebody who counts.'

A long, heavy silence followed.

Ron, evidently aware that there would have been better ways of breaking the news to his wife, didn't touch his breakfast but merely stared at it.

Hermione, though so angry and tense she thought the pulsing vein in her temple was going to burst any second, maintained her façade of imperturbable calm, smiling vaguely at nobody in particular.

'I… I ought to have talked to you first,' Ron finally said, hesitatingly.

'Really? Why should you?'

'Because, well, because it concerns you too. I just didn't know how to talk to you about our problems, and so…'

'That's certainly an interesting thought. It concerns me too.'

'Why are you being so picky? By "too" I meant me, and you too.'

'I'm touched, really. Tell you what, Ron. Why don't you get started with the divorce – all that tedious paperwork, informing the family, and so on? Because I've got things to do, and unless you're going to talk to me right now, I mean i_talk_ /ito me, not behave like a sullen toddler, or repeat other people's opinions, I'm going to leave you to it. Tempus fugit, and all that.'

She stood up and stared at him, daring him to utter one wrong word. But he remained silent, playing with his fork.

'Very well, then. Have a nice day, Ron, and kindly tell me when the papers are ready.'

A flick of her wand emptied and cleaned her coffee cup. A silent Accio summoned the coffee pot, and she left the kitchen without looking back.

Severus was just coming out of the bathroom, and she thrust the empty cup at him. He took it, looking slightly bewildered.

'I suppose you'd like some coffee before we go to Malfoy Manor.'

'Erm… yes, thank you.' He held the cup steady while she filled it. 'Is there any, er, reason for this' – he gestured at the two of them, standing in the corridor with pot and cup in hand – 'arrangement?'

'Yes, there is,' Hermione said tersely. 'I'll tell you later. Are you ready?'

'I am, but it's only a quarter to nine. Lucius-'

'Fuck Lucius. He can cope, I guess.'

Twenty-two years spent in limbo hadn't blunted Severus's instincts. He'd been Head of Slytherin for almost twenty years, he'd been friends with Lily, and he'd always had a rather unfortunate talent of making women angry. He knew exactly what an angry woman looked like and acted like.

Right now, he was standing next to a Very Angry Woman. This wasn't something to be trifled with, more so as Hermione was exuding uncontrolled magic in hot, aggressive waves. It made her exceedingly attractive but no less dangerous.

'I daresay he can. Besides, it might be fun to catch him unawares – who knows if he had enough hangover potion.'

Hermione gave him a brief, grateful smile. 'True. Maybe he hasn't brushed his hair yet. I wonder if it goes all tangled and knotted like everybody else's.'

Severus was on the verge of saying that, if she took Lucius up on his offer of sharing his vast array of sexual techniques with her, she'd probably find out, and not in a bad way, but he thought better of it.

'I don't think so. He braids it before he goes to bed. Have you got everything you need?'

'My purse is in the bedroom. Just a moment.'

She was back immediately and offered him her arm. 'Alongside Apparition? Just to be safe?'

The indignant "no" was already on his lips when he realized that she wasn't being patronizing. She was pulling herself together so hard that her hands were trembling. And she needed to distract herself, in order to keep up her self-control.

So he offered her his arm and even managed a smile. And of course he was wondering when exactly that iron restraint was going to break.

o

Like every other specimen of the Homo Sapiens Sapiens – with the probable exception of Lucius Malfoy, who was Homo Sapiens Savoir Faire – Hermione had committed her share of gaffes in her lifetime, ranging from the pardonable slip to the atrocious blunder.

There were missteps, however, for which an adequate term had yet to be found.

For the time being, she really couldn't be bothered to create neologisms – her forehead was resting against Malfoy's shoulder, she felt the swell of his bicep under her hand and she was busy inhaling his scent.

Like all good things, this was too good to last. Malfoy, who'd ducked and pulled her close simultaneously, when he heard the first ominous crack announcing the Armageddon, gently grasped her shoulders and held her at arm's length. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Severus slowly lower his arms, which he'd instinctively raised to protect his head, and look around the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor with an expression of awed apprehension.

'Impressive, really,' Malfoy said, smirking.

He was quite repulsively detached for having told her only a few days ago, in no uncertain terms, that he wanted to shag the living daylights out of her.

'Erm, sorry?' she offered, venturing a glance over his shoulder. 'It's an effect of Alongside Apparition, well, uh, probably…'

There had been lots of mirrors in the entrance hall, seven feet high and gilt-framed. Now there were lots of impressive heaps of shards littering the black-and-white chessboard floor. It was a pretty sight, in a scary kind of way, with the thousands of small mirrors refracting the candlelight; the vast room was now a dazzling, light-freckled enclave of brilliance.

'There is no need for you to apologize, I assure you.'

A quick Reparo! and the mirrors were restored to their previous, unbroken condition.

'Are you quite all right, Madam Weasley?' Malfoy inquired. 'An outbreak of uncontrolled magic like this does hint at a certain level of, erm, distress, after all. Alongside Apparition alone would not account for it.'

Glad for his hand that was still resting on her shoulder, stabilizing her, Hermione tiredly rubbed her forehead. 'Yes, I'm… all right. I obviously, erm, got it out of my system. You're not hurt, are you? And you, Severus?'

Both men shook their heads. Hermione, squirming under their scrutinizing gaze, wished the floor would open up and swallow her. But apparently she'd used up her Destructive Magical Energy Quota for the day. The floor remained as it was, whole and totally uninterested.

'I think…' Unsure of her own voice, she paused to clear her throat. 'I think I owe you an explanation.'

Malfoy, who in the meantime had regained his calm affability, offered her his arm. 'I would be happy to hear it, as I am sure would Severus. Though hardly well-mannered, the curiosity seems understandable,' he continued, steering her towards the open door of a sunlit salon, 'given your usually impeccable self-control.'

She shot him a sharp sideways glance at that. He was smirking, the bastard. And she knew exactly what he was alluding to.

Severus was on her other side, still looking slightly shell-shocked.

'I'm sorry,' she said quietly and briefly touched his hand. 'It was beyond my control, really.'

'It certainly looked that way,' he replied acidly. 'Why can't you behave like other women and simply throw something?'

'Madam Weasley is a special woman in her own right, Severus. She wouldn't even dream of throwing one of my priceless antiques at you.'

Severus snorted. 'I was rather thinking of you being the target, not me.'

'Now that would be downright vulgar. Madam Weasley is at least as well-mannered as she's in control of herself. Hurling her host's antique amphora at her host's head would be beneath her, wouldn't it, Madam Weasley?'

'Considering that I just lost control of myself makes me wonder what you really think of my manners, Mr Malfoy.'

He patted her arm. 'You are among friends here, madam. There is absolutely no need to second-guess a sincere compliment.'

'Said the wolf to the sheep,' Hermione muttered, but she felt oddly at ease with the two wizards. Probably that was because she didn't have to rein in her natural tendency towards verbal sparring.

That was the advantage of having to deal with people like Malfoy and Snape. You could be sure that, if they wanted to harm or hurt you, they'd do so but wouldn't be surprised or make big, sad puppy eyes at you if you fought back. On the contrary, she thought with a wry smile. They'd enjoy it.

'You are hardly a sheep, dear lady,' Malfoy replied calmly. 'Or,' he added pensively, with a sideways glance at Severus, 'is there a particularly belligerent race of carnivorous sheep?' He smiled down at Hermione. 'My knowledge of ovine behaviour is limited to the usual clichés, I'm afraid. But why discard a perfectly good allegory, if it merely needs to be stretched a little to accommodate the very opposite of its original meaning?'

They entered a cosy salon. A small, round table had been pushed closer towards the fireplace and set for three. On a sideboard next to it the House Elves had arranged dish upon dish of breakfast delicacies, at least ten different kinds of bread, tea, coffee and a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket.

'Do I detect a whiff of devilled kidneys?' Severus asked, nostrils vibrating.

'I haven't forgotten your obsession with that particular dish, although the mere thought of having it for breakfast or, indeed, any other meal makes me slightly nauseous.'

'You never had to teach Potions to Gryffindor first-years at half past eight in the morning.'

'I can't quite see the advantage of facing them with my stomach full of pigs' entrails, but surely it can't be worse than having to face Voldemort at breakfast, on an empty stomach.'

Hermione sat down on the chair Malfoy had pulled out for her. 'I suppose eating kidneys for breakfast made him sufficiently bad-tempered to deal with us at such an ungodly hour. That's what they'd do to me, I'm sure.'

'Not nearly bad-tempered enough to deal with you.'

'I wasn't that bad! Honestly, teaching me must have been a pleasure, I always used to participate actively and I was always prepared.'

'If you say so,' Severus muttered darkly.

Malfoy draped his napkin across his lap with a flourish and waved two hovering House Elves into frantic action. 'Well, Severus? Was teaching Madam Weasley a pleasure? I'm sure' – he smirked at her – 'she was a most avid student.'

Banter of the sort she could obviously indulge in with Severus and Malfoy was something Hermione enjoyed immensely. But, she mused, there definitely were too few Slytherins among her friends and acquaintances – she lacked the practice she'd have needed to find a suitable comeback to the kind of underhanded allusions Malfoy was firing at her.

Of course he was being impertinent. But not only was the insolence subtle and well-disguised, Hermione also had to admit to herself that the feel and scent of his body under the elegant robes had considerably unsettled her.

So she merely smiled at him and pretended to be deeply engrossed in the act of stirring her coffee.

His smirk grew a trifle broader – she hadn't added sugar or milk.

'The, erm, avidity of the student depends – and to no small degree, mind you – on the teacher's abilities, Mr Malfoy.'

Severus coughed discreetly. 'Are you implying that I was a good teacher?'

She saw Malfoy's eyes narrow ever so slightly, and suddenly it dawned on her that he was – well, jealous wasn't quite the right word, because he probably considered such pedestrian feelings to be far beneath him. But he quite obviously sensed the amicable relationship between her and Severus, and he apparently didn't enjoy the fact that he wasn't the sole centre of her attention.

There might be a good deal of fun in exploiting the situation, she thought and turned towards Severus to answer his question.

And then she saw the almost imperceptible softening of his traits, as he looked at her, waiting for her reply.

Hermione had to make a conscious effort to keep her jaw from giving in to the pull of gravity and falling down to breastbone level.

Oh.

Well, that was… interesting. To use a very anodyne term to describe an extremely intriguing, erm, possibility. Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy vying for her attention. Not the worst of opportunities, given how her day had begun.

'You were in love with your subject,' she finally said, carefully choosing her words. 'That's one of the things that make a good teacher. And your lessons weren't boring. Maybe you might have been a little less harsh, but I think we can put that down to the devilled kidneys.'

The elves had started levitating the dishes, which now hovered close to the three tablemates, slowly making the rounds.

Hermione lingered over each plate, deliberately slowing down the process. She needed time to think. Did she really want to wave the metaphorical flag, in order to signal the start of the race? Ron had merely told her that he meant to get a divorce; nothing was final as of yet, so what if he changed his mind? And even if he didn't and went through with it, was she ready for a dalliance with not one but two scheming, cunning Slytherins who weren't likely to leave anything to fate? They'd plot and plan and besiege her – or was that wishful thinking?

Only one way to find out, then. And to hell with all those but's and if's. She was woman enough to put a stop to their attempts, in case she decided she wasn't interested.

'You have been extraordinarily kind, Mr Malfoy,' she said, lightly putting a hand on his forearm. Her other hand crept in Severus's direction and came to rest on his knuckles. 'You too, Severus. I completely wrecked your' – a slight pat on Malfoy's arm – 'lovely entrance hall, and I gave you' – a slight squeeze of Severus's hand – 'such a fright. I do apologize.'

'My dear madam Weasley. As I already told you, there's no need-'

'Do call me Hermione, please. We've come to know each other quite well these days, haven't we?'

She felt the minimal twitch of Severus's fingers under hers. Ah. It was circumstantial evidence, but quite conclusive, she thought.

'I would be honoured.' Malfoy bowed his head. 'But only if you agree to call me Lucius. Mr Malfoy sounds awfully formal.'

'I'd be delighted.' Hermione withdrew her hands and started buttering a piece of toast. 'And now, gentlemen, since we're on such… intimate terms, I don't see why I shouldn't tell you the reason for my distress.'

The two wizards exchanged a glance – the equivalent of two rams locking horns, she thought, vastly amused – and then looked at her with identical expressions of rapt attention.

Yes, this might definitely be fun.

'My husband announced his intention to get a divorce, in a way that… You see, it wasn't the divorce per se that upset me, but what he said to me.'

A simultaneous intake of breath.

'Not…' Severus cleared his throat. 'Not because of me, I hope.'

Lucius perked up. 'Because of you? Does that mean that you – sorry, madam, I mean Hermione. I'm sure your fidelity is beyond doubt.'

Carefully arranging a slice of ham on her toast, Hermione looked at both men in turn. 'Not because of you, Severus. Your presence in our house may have been the last straw, although I sincerely doubt it, but…' She let the sentence hang unfinished and dedicated her attention to delicately decapitating an egg.

'Maybe Severus ought to leave your house then,' Lucius purred, 'and stay at the Manor until he's officially back among the living.'

Trust that cunning bastard to throw a stone and make it describe a ballistic curve that looked like an EEG graph, and kill bird after bird after bird. Hermione almost burst out laughing. By inviting Severus he both kept the promise he'd made to her and ensured that his rival had no more opportunities to be in her company than himself. Fewer, if she and Lucius ever met outside of the Manor.

Much to her surprise, the anger and hurt she'd felt earlier had completely evaporated. Then again, it hadn't been the idea of a divorce that had caused her distress, but Ron's utter lack of respect and loyalty. The two Slytherins' obvious interest more than made up for Ron's callousness.

'That certainly seems like a good idea.' Severus didn't bat an eyelid. 'But, assuming that you're still willing to deal with my, er, case, won't my staying here at the Manor make things more difficult for you? You'd have to Apparate back and forth all the time, people might notice…'

'That's true. But the children – my own and Harry's – will be coming over to stay till the end of the holidays, as you know. You said yourself that you didn't like the idea of appearance-altering charms, so the risk would be considerable.'

To judge by the tightening of Severus's lips, he was busy cursing himself for his repeated refusal of appearance-altering charms. 'Hmm, well, I hadn't thought of that. It would only be for a week – maybe the charms-'

'Nonsense,' Lucius interrupted him. 'Hermione is more than welcome to drop by as long and as often as she wants or needs to. You'll have more room to yourself here – no offence, Hermione.'

'None taken. I think it's a very sensible suggestion. Besides, if Ron is as keen as I think he is on getting divorced, well, I'll have to go house-hunting quite soon. He wants to keep the cottage, and I certainly won't deny his wish.'

Both men's eyes lit up. Lucius took her hand and brushed the merest trace of a kiss across her knuckles. Severus glared.

'My dear Hermione, should it really come to this, may I offer you, too, the hospitality of Malfoy Manor? You could take your time looking for a house of your own – such important decisions ought to be made at leisure.'

That was… well, not quite unexpected. And certainly tempting enough.

'Thank you, Lucius,' she said. 'I'll be sure to keep your generous offer in mind. It would certainly facilitate… things.'

She could almost see the little cogwheels in their brains turn a bit faster.


	14. Chapter 5 Part 1

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR

I HATED THE HOUSE, WITH ALL HER NAGGING AND SHOUTING

When Harry and Ginny had got married and moved into the restored cottage at Godric's Hollow, the Ministry had created a large perimeter of anti-Apparition wards to protect the wizarding world's hero from any unwanted attention, whether of the sycophantic or the dangerous kind.

Ron could hear the hullabaloo from the Apparition point at a hundred yards' distance from the house. His face lit up briefly, but he really didn't feel like smiling. He didn't feel like visiting with Harry and Ginny either, because he'd been behaving like a bloody idiot for the last couple of weeks, and apologizing for having been a moron wasn't his cup of tea.

But after the disastrous scene this morning with Hermione, his need to talk with his sister and best friend overrode any misgivings he might have had. Besides, Harry wasn't the kind of person who bore you a grudge or made apologizing difficult. You said sorry, and that was that.

And then he'd finally be able to tell them about this morning's royal fuck-up.

'Well, look who's there,' Harry said, leaning against the doorframe and grinning broadly. 'I'd swear you're Auror Weasley, but I haven't seen the guy in so long, I'm not quite sure…'

'I was here on Christmas Day, you saw me.'

'Hmm, yes, but the bloke who was here on Christmas Day didn't talk to me at all, so he might just as well have been an impostor.' He pushed up his glasses.

Ron raked his fingers through his hair. 'Oh, stop it already,' he said, not sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry. 'I've been a total moron, and I'm sorry. It's just that…'

'Erm…' Harry cocked his head and gave his friend a sharp look. 'You look like shit, Ron. Don't you want to come in? The children are busy re-enacting some historically inaccurate version of the Goblin Wars, so we could talk, if you want.'

When the door closed behind him, Ron deeply inhaled the atmosphere of Harry's home. There was a fantastic aroma of freshly baked cake, mixed with the alluring smell of stew, the whole blend rounded off by the fragrance of candles and wood polish. _That_ was the way a home ought to smell. Even the warmth of Harry's house seemed to have a different quality.

'I'm sorry,' Ron muttered, when they'd both sat down in the large living room. 'I don't know why… I wasn't angry or jealous, it's just that my life is total shit at the moment, and yours isn't, and…'

It wasn't the most brilliant of apologies, but it was certainly heartfelt. And where Hermione would have cocked her head and raised her brows and merely looked at him expectantly, Harry did what a friend was supposed to do.

'It's okay,' he said and patted Ron's shoulder. 'Already forgotten. So, what about a beer? Or something stronger?'

'A whisky would be nice. I don't have to go back to work till late tonight, so I guess it's all right.'

Harry poured out a generous measure for Ron and a smaller quantity for himself, topped his glass up with water and ice and returned to the sofa.

'So,' he said, handing Ron his glass, 'what's the matter with you? Why is your life total shit?'

His heart already a little less heavy, Ron gave a brief overview of the state of his marriage, his discussion with Bill and today's talk with Hermione.

'You really said "Bill thinks we ought to get a divorce"?' Harry pushed up his glasses and stared at his friend. 'I can't believe… Are you sure that's what you said?'

Ron nodded glumly. 'Absolutely sure. I regretted it the moment it came out, but… you know, it's like toothpaste. Once you squeeze it out of the tube, you can't get it back in.'

'And…' Harry leaned back and looked pensively at Ron. 'Are you at least sure that you really want a divorce? I mean, you've been married for nineteen years, that's something you don't just throw away lightly. Maybe there's still a chance the two of you might work it out.'

'No.' Ron held out his glass for a refill. 'No, there isn't. We're just incompatible, Hermione and I. We want different things from life – I'm just an ordinary guy, I want a family and a wife, and a nice home.'

'Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that exactly what you've got?'

Ron snorted. 'That's like saying you've already got a broomstick, if you have a tattered old Cleansweep but what you really want is a brand new Shooting Star 4000.'

'Is that how you see your life? I mean, don't get me wrong, but the comparison seems a bit strong.'

'It's exaggerated, but essentially that's how I feel. I want a wife, Harry, not a crossbreed between a stern teacher and an overambitious mother! It's like I'm constantly under examination, always being tested and always found wanting. What I say is always stupid, what I do is always wrong, and it's become even worse since Snape, that hook-nosed bastard, has come to live with us. You should've heard her, Harry! When I dared to argue that maybe having him stay at Tinworth wasn't such a good idea, because we have a reputation to lose after all, she almost bit my head off, because I had the unspeakable cruelty to object to her making him her new pet project!'

Harry wisely chose not to mention that he knew Hermione's version of the story, in which Ron had done rather more than merely object to Snape's presence at their home.

'How long have things been like this?' he asked instead. 'I mean, I know you've always had your fights and differences, but I never thought it was that bad.'

A sweep of Ron's free hand indicated a very long time indeed. 'Forever, it seems. Maybe it was better while the children were still young and we both had to struggle to make ends meet. But looking back, I'd say the problem has always been there, almost as long as we've known each other.'

'Any idea how Hermione feels about all this?'

Ron gave a hollow laugh. 'You must be joking. It's impossible to know how Hermione feels. She freezes, and that's that. Told me to inform the children and start preparing the divorce papers, before she sailed off to Merlin knows where with Snape. If she didn't have an ice cube instead of a heart, I'd say she's got somebody else.'

'You're wrong there, Ron. She does have a heart, she merely is a very rational person, who refuses to be driven by her emotions. That doesn't mean she doesn't have any.'

'And a fat lot of good it did our marriage! What's the point of having emotions, I ask you, if you never show them?'

Harry shrugged and stared into his empty glass. 'I don't know what to say, mate. You seem so… sure of your decision, you don't give the impression of someone who wants to be dissuaded. I'd like to convince you that there's a good chance of reconciliation, but for that to work you'd need… I don't know. Something. A spark that can be rekindled, that sort of thing. What you tell me sounds cold and dead.'

He went over to the drinks cabinet to refill both their glasses.

'But you ought to consider,' he continued, raising his tumbler in a wry salute, 'that Hermione is capable of giving love and warmth – look at Rose and Hugo. They're happy, normal children, capable of making friends, they cuddle with their mother, they're not afraid of her. They're nothing like, oh, I don't know, Draco Malfoy. That was the typical child of a pair of cold-hearted, ambitious, arrogant snobs. But your children…'

'So you're saying it's all my fault?' Ron asked belligerently.

'No, of course not. It's never just one person's fault. I don't know why Hermione seems incapable of giving you what she's able to give others. That doesn't mean it's all your fault, though.'

Ron slowly shook his head. 'I think it's not that difficult to explain. The children were unformed, so to speak, as long as they were still little. She formed them the way she wanted them, and therefore she could love them. With me, there wasn't much she could do – it was accept me or reject me, and obviously she can't accept me as I am.'

'Who can't accept my lovely and absolutely perfect brother as he is?' Ginny asked, coming in from the kitchen and wiping her hands with a tea towel. 'Harry, why didn't you tell me Ron's here?'

'I, erm, we were so absorbed in our discussion,' Harry said.

Ginny cuffed him over the head with the tea towel. 'You just wanted to have him all to yourself. So,' she said, perching on the armrest of Ron's chair, 'what were you discussing, then?'

The two men looked at each other, neither wanting to be the one who broke the news to Ginny.

'I think Hermione and I are going to get a divorce,' Ron finally said.

Ginny nodded and patted his shoulder. 'Good for you. She's been treating you like dirt forever, and after what she did to Lily…'

'You see?' Ron said after Ginny had finished her somewhat biased account of Lily's questioning at the Ministry, 'You see? And you still claim that she's capable of love? She'd sell her mother without thinking twice, if the money could buy a House Elf's freedom! How could she do this to Lily? And all because of Snape!'

'Well, not really,' Harry said. 'We needed to know who'd brought him back, and Lily was the logical suspect. I still don't like Snape overly much, but you have to admit that being brought back wasn't his fault. Or not entirely.'

He didn't have to elaborate that last sentence any further – the explanation wouldn't have worked in Snape's favour anyway – because his wife and friend were glaring daggers at him.

'You're not defending her, are you?' Ginny snapped, tight-lipped and pale.

'That's hardly the point. We aren't talking about Hermione, but about Ron's plans to get a divorce.'

Eyes flaring, Ginny stepped closer to him, looking up defiantly. 'Oh really? And who's he divorcing, if not Hermione?'

'Gin, darling.' He put both hands on her shoulders. 'You're maybe not as objective as one might wish for in this situation. You do have issues with Hermione…'

'Well, of course I do! Ron's a wreck, Lily was that close to committing suicide, and I just can't stand the woman's arrogance! The way she looks down on me, because she has a career and I don't!'

'Ginny, please. Please don't turn this into a Hermione-bashing session. She's my friend, and I love her dearly, and I love you and Ron, but if you're going to continue like this, you force me to defend her, and it's all going to end in tears. We've had those arguments, enough of them to last me a lifetime. Shouldn't we rather be thinking of Rose and Hugo?'

'That's just like her,' Ginny hissed, 'Leaving the dirty work to Ron. Why can't she tell her children, if she claims to be such a fantastic mother? No, Ron has to do it. As if he didn't have enough on his plate already.' Suddenly, her eyes widened. 'Good heavens, what about mum and dad? Oh dear, this is going to be such a shock for them! Dad hasn't been looking too well – if this news is bad for his health, I swear Hermione's going to regret it!'

Harry sighed and pushed his glasses up his nose. Once his wife worked herself into a state of blind self-righteousness, there was no arguing with her. She was incapable of seeing Ron's faults, just as she was incapable of seeing his own. And she'd been jealous of Hermione all these years, because Hermione had been at his side during that horrific year on the run, and Ginny hadn't. In the end, it always came down to that.

The business with Lily had been the last straw. Harry wouldn't have told her, but Lily had been in such a state when they returned home… Not really close to committing suicide, but humiliated and angry. She would never have confided in her mother, had not Hermione betrayed her trust, as she saw it. Well, in a way Hermione i_had_ /ibetrayed her niece's trust, there was no denying it. But they had needed to know. He'd seen Hermione's face when he re-entered her office. It had been drawn and deeply unhappy.

But now wasn't the moment to make that clear to Ginny and Ron; they were far too busy digging up memories of Hermione the Cruel Queen of Pain.

Harry sighed and went into the kitchen to stir the stew, which was in danger of burning.

o

'Well,' Lucius said, pulling a fob watch out of his waistcoat pocket, 'much as I regret having to interrupt this delightful get-together, I think we'd better get going. Narcissa expects me to arrive at eleven, and I always endeavour to be punctual.'

Hermione cast a regretful look at the remaining food and dabbed at her lips with the napkin. 'I know it's none of my business, but I can't quite get my head around the fact that you're still on speaking terms.'

'Why ever not?' Lucius gestured to the elves to start clearing the table. 'Malfoy wives have been turned into toads for lesser breaches of loyalty. I certainly won't go as far as saying that she was grateful to get away with being exiled, but she was certainly aware of my more than habitual, erm, generosity.'

'Oh.' The smile on his face reminded her of times long gone. 'Well, if you put it like that. So, what have you told her?'

'I told her that it was time for the wine-tasting.'

Severus cocked his head. 'I beg your pardon?'

'It's a chateau in the Provence, Severus. They routinely come equipped with vineyards – this particular one produces five hundred thousand bottles per year, mostly cuvees, but also an excellent Syrah and a few very acceptable whites. Narcissa has permission to sell most of it, but I was wise enough to retain the right to choose up to five hundred bottles of each vintage for my own use, of course only if the quality agrees with me. Hence the wine-tasting.'

'Your wine cellars must be quite impressive,' Hermione said, getting up.

'Oh, they are, but I don't rely solely on that one source.' Lucius smiled up at her. 'If you're interested, it would be my pleasure to show them to you.'

Severus snorted discreetly, and Lucius rolled his eyes.

'Severus is an even more accomplished wine-taster than I am,' he said, 'because he has the better sense of smell. Since you seemed to appreciate his didactic qualities, I'd propose a lesson in wine-tasting, maybe combined with a nice dinner for the three of us?'

Her throat suddenly dry, Hermione swallowed. This wasn't the long, drawn-out siege she'd half-expected, this was a full-fledged assault. Both wizards were looking at her with glittering eyes. She didn't want to decline, but neither did she intend to give in too easily. Finally, inspiration struck.

'That sounds like the ideal way to celebrate Severus's official return to the world of the living, doesn't it?'

Lucius's lips twitched. 'An excellent suggestion, Hermione. And, I hope, an incentive for you to speed up the bureaucratic proceedings. Otherwise Severus's official comeback might coincide with his sixty-fifth birthday.' He rose from his chair and gestured for Severus to follow suit.

'I'm thirty-eight, Lucius. I hardly believe it's going to take the Ministry twenty-seven years.'

'An interesting legal question,' Lucius said, holding the door open for Hermione to leave the room before them. 'What do you think, Hermione? Is he thirty-eight or sixty?'

A House Elf handed them their cloaks, and Severus, who'd been quicker to snatch Hermione's, gallantly helped her put it on. The smile she gave him in return was a little lopsided, because she hadn't previously thought of the important matter of Severus's age. She hated being taken by surprise, more so if it was her own fault, because she hadn't examined her subject from every possible angle.

'I don't know,' she finally said. 'It's a precedent – not that there will be lots of similar cases in the future, but the Wizengamot always gets a bit squeamish when they have to deal with precedents.'

'That's because they're a bunch of petrified old codgers,' Severus said.

'Yes…' Hermione chewed her lip. 'Damn, I hadn't thought of that.'

'Are you sure there aren't any precedents?' Lucius asked. He was holding a small gold plaque in his outstretched hand, motioning for them to touch it.

The Portkey – on closer examination it turned out to be a solid gold paperweight bearing the Malfoy crest in relief – was quite small; Hermione's finger tingled slightly at the contact with Severus and Lucius's fingertips.

'I'm not sure,' she said. 'I meant to do some research, but-'

She was interrupted by the well-known feeling of being pulled through time and space by a hook attached to her navel. When she reopened her eyes – she had yet to manage Portkey travel without closing them – she found herself standing in the shadow of a high stone wall next to an ornate, cast-iron entrance gate. The sky was blue and cloudless, the warmth of the sunrays surprisingly intense.

'Here we are,' Lucius said. 'I suggest that we continue our legal discussion later. Allow me.'

He drew his wand and touched first Hermione's, then Severus's head, making them shiver with the sensation of the disillusionment spell trickling down their bodies. He then tapped the gate once with the tip of his wand and pronounced his name. It swung open immediately. Hermione promptly bumped into Severus and stumbled, when they fell in line behind Lucius; his firm grip at her elbow prevented her from falling.

The procession of three crossed a broad line of trees and emerged onto a large open space, its left and right side enclosed by trees. There was a long, rectangular pond in the centre, flanked by wide, gravelled paths, which joined at the other end of the pond, to form a broad avenue leading to the chateau.

Hermione had expected something stern and medieval – from the trip she'd made together with her parents many, many years ago she seemed to remember that most of the castles they'd seen in the South of France had looked like forbidding, squat towers perching on the hillside. But this was… different. Elegantly proportioned and pronouncedly Italian in style, the two-storied mansion was neither dark nor forbidding. Two perfectly symmetrical wings hugged a slightly taller central part; the entrance door, located right in its middle, looked surprisingly small. She couldn't make out whether the walls were made of limestone or painted a light ochre, but the impression the building gave was one of Mediterranean brightness, in spite of the brownish winter lawn and the bare trees.

After a few initial difficulties and a hissed command at their guide to walk slowly and shorten his steps, Hermione managed to synchronize her steps with Lucius and Severus's.

When they'd arrived at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the entrance door, it was opened by a dignified-looking manservant. Weren't there any House Elves, Hermione wondered. She didn't know a lot about French wizarding culture, maybe the possession of elves was forbidden in this country?

They slipped into the entrance hall after Lucius and tiptoed across an enormous Persian rug to stand behind him.

'Madame sera avec vous dans quelques secondes,' the butler murmured, bowing to take Lucius's cloak.

Eyebrows creeping towards his hairline, Lucius straightened his cuffs. 'Je l'espère bien.'

The butler retired, not without bowing again and repeating his assurances that Madame was going to arrive any moment.

'We're right behind you,' Severus whispered into Lucius's ear.

Lucius nodded slightly.

'When are you going to lift the spell?' Hermione had to rise on tiptoes to bring her mouth a bit closer to Lucius's ear.

She would've liked to punch him in the back, when he merely shook his head and shushed her with an impatient wave of his hand, but had to resist the temptation, because the closing of a door and the click-clack of heels on marble announced Narcissa's arrival.

'Lucius,' she said coolly.

He bowed and kissed the offered hand. 'Narcissa. How kind of you to receive me at such short notice. I do hope you didn't have any other plans?'

Narcissa Malfoy – or had she reassumed her maiden name of Black? – had aged well, Hermione acknowledged. She hadn't seen the woman for more than twenty years, but there wasn't that much of a difference. The porcelain skin was ever so faintly tanned, and there was a hint of crow's feet around the eyes; maybe the lines bracketing the mouth had become a touch deeper. But otherwise she seemed unaffected by time.

'I had to postpone my departure for Italy. The Portkey has been rescheduled for three p.m. – I trust you didn't intend to stay longer than that?'

'I wouldn't dream of forcing my presence upon you for more than four hours, my dear. How are you?'

Naricssa shrugged. 'Tolerably well.'

'I'm delighted to hear it. By the way, I'm sure you are i_au courant_ /iof that positively dreadful story about the Blacks' family house rightfully belonging to the Ministry? I was appalled – I meant to write to you, offering my help, but…' He made a vague gesture. 'With one thing and another…'

Narcissa managed a smile that conveyed boredom, disgust and contempt in equal measure. 'i_Thing_ /imeaning skirt, I suppose.'

'Absolutely not, my dear. There are no interesting women left in England since you were exiled.' The minimalist bow Lucius sketched was a masterpiece of insolence.

'My sources have told me otherwise. But let us not discuss this rather vulgar issue any further.'

'Are you referring to the house or the women?'

'The Blacks' family home is hardly a vulgar issue. I'd rather not discuss it, though.'

'I see.' Lucius drew his wand and twirled it in his fingers. 'But I'm afraid you will have to, my dear.' The tip of his wand swung slowly up until it pointed backwards over his shoulder. 'Finite Incantatem!'

And Malfoy had berated i_her_ /ifor excessive self-control? Hermione was nowhere near Narcissa's level. A widening of ice-blue eyes, fingertips fluttering briefly to her throat, and a silent Oh! of surprise. Hermione was sure she'd have fainted or at least screamed if somebody had pulled that party trick on her.

'Welcome to my home,' Narcissa said, and only the slight tremor of her voice betrayed her agitation. 'Severus, you look… positively alive. Lucius, would you do the honours, I don't think I know the, er, i_lady_/i?'

The tone of this last sentence and the imperceptible twitch of her mouth clearly indicated that she took Hermione for one of the "skirts". Hermione's first reaction was anger; then she remembered that Malfoy never wasted his time or money on anything less than a stunning beauty. That, however, was cold comfort, because whenever Hermione had met him at a social function with some superb young witch apparently grafted to his arm, a few words had been enough to convince her that he wasn't exactly after sparkling conversation. So she quickly reverted from incipient pleasure to indignation.

Lucius had already opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione was quicker.

'We have indeed met, Mrs Malfoy – or is that Black? You were watching while your sister tortured me with the Cruciatus Curse. If I remember correctly, there was no formal introduction back then. I'm Hermione, formerly Granger, now Weasley, head of the Ministry's department of Magical Law Enforcement.'

Narcissa swallowed convulsively, glanced at her ex-husband and back to Hermione and finally said, 'Well, that is certainly a surprise. A social call, I presume?'

The recalcitrant hostess grew even more uncomfortable when Hermione informed her that her call was about as social as a plantation owner's health care plan for his slaves.

'You see,' Hermione concluded her speech, 'you have nothing to lose and everything to win. If you cooperate, I'm sure I can convince the next Minister for Magic to give the house back to you, maybe we might even manage a permission to travel to England once or twice a year, if you so wish. By bringing Severus back, you haven't committed a crime, so you don't have to fear any consequences.'

'Empty promises,' Narcissa said, waving the words away like so many disgusting insects. 'How can I be sure that you will even try to keep them, let alone be able to persuade Mr Potter to do your bidding?'

'Then let me put it the other way round: If you don't cooperate, I will convince the Wizengamot that bringing Severus back was indeed a criminal act – maybe merely a dress rehearsal for summoning Voldemort back to life, who knows? Given the gravity of the accusation, we'll have to ask the French Ministry for your extradition, which I'm pretty sure they'll grant. Or if they don't, they might ask you, very discreetly – obviously, because after all they're French – to kindly leave the country. And you probably know that this kind of information has the annoying habit of falling into the most inappropriate hands. You might still be welcome in, say, Azerbaijan or some other tinpot country… not that Azerbaijan isn't nice, I hear the climate is excellent.'

Lucius merely shrugged, when Narcissa shot him a pleading look. 'Believe me, she can. The style of her threats may need some polishing, but they're serious.'

Narcissa's shoulders sagged. 'I see,' she said after a long silence. 'It seems I don't have a choice.'

'I wouldn't say you don't,' Hermione said. 'It's merely very easy.'

o

At noon, it was warm enough to sit outside in the sun. That was exactly what Lucius and Severus were doing; when the two women had retired to Narcissa's study, the men had decided that they might just as well put the time to good use and taste this year's vintage.

Homard, the ubiquitous butler and master over the House Elves, had made the arrangements – a rough wooden table and two comfortable chairs out on the back terrace, white bread and cheese and, of course, the wine.

The less menial task of opening the bottles and pouring the wine remained in Homard's capable hands.

'This Syrah,' Lucius said pensively, holding up his glass to examine the colour, 'will mature most satisfactorily. What do you think?'

Severus brought the glass up to his nose and inhaled deeply. 'It's very crisp. Maybe we ought to wait until it has breathed sufficiently. Fifteen minutes won't do it justice.' He selected a slice of flat white bread and broke off a piece. 'Ah, the smell of fresh bread…'

'Savouring the small pleasures of life?' Lucius smiled and took another sip of Syrah. 'You're probably right. We'll let it sit for another half-hour and decide then.'

'So you showed her the Geoffrey?' Severus said after a brief while they'd spent turning their faces towards the sun, eyes closed.

'It seemed the appropriate thing to do,' Lucius replied noncommittally.

'Appropriate? Since when have you been doing appropriate things?'

Twirling the stem of his glass between thumb and index finger, Lucius wagged his head. 'You see,' he finally said, 'Hermione is such an extraordinary woman. So immensely self-assured, such poise, and, yes, style, if her very own. She was so absolutely certain she knew everything there was to know about those, ah, Deathly Hallows I believe she called them… I simply couldn't resist showing her that she'd seen only the smallest, most unimportant part of the whole mystery. Besides, it helped me gain her trust, or at least as much of it as she sees fit to give me.'

'And of course you didn't have any second thoughts, did you?'

'A very small second thought may have crossed my mind. She'd asked me to offer you accommodation at the Manor, for a few days while the children stayed at her house. I had garnered the overall impression that you were less than welcome there, so I was aware that this might even become a permanent arrangement. I hadn't seen you yet, so I had no idea you had developed a, shall we say i_tendre_ /ifor her. But the idea of you and me and her… I assumed that giving her a little push in the right direction couldn't do any harm.'

A deep frown line had formed between Severus's brows. 'You think I fancy her?'

'That much seems obvious, dear friend.' He motioned to Homard to uncork another bottle. 'Let's try the rosé now. I have high hopes for it. Are you saying you don't?'

'I haven't yet tasted it.'

'Not the wine, Severus. The woman. Whom, I presume, you haven't tasted either. Yet.'

'She's… nice,' Severus admitted reluctantly.

'Nice? What a perfectly odious word. The view is nice. The soup is nice. Hermione isn't i_nice_/i, she's a force of nature.'

'It seems you aren't totally indifferent, either.'

'No, but I don't try to make you think I am.'

'We had a fight,' Severus said slowly, rolling small pieces of bread into tiny white balls. 'It was… a revelation, yes, I know it sounds strange. We hurled truths at each other's heads – not the nice kind, as you can probably imagine. She broke down completely, I would never have thought that this tough woman cried at all. But she did. And after that, things were different somehow.'

'Forgive me if I puncture the bubble of romance, but that doesn't sound very much like you. I've seen you with many women, but never like this.' He sat up straighter and leaned forward, eyes narrowed. 'Tell me this isn't Lily Evans all over again!'

Severus snorted. 'Your eulogy strongly reminded me of certain monologues I had to endure, because you'd fallen for Bella. Force of nature indeed – those were the very same words you used to describe her. To quote you: tell me this isn't Bella all over again!'

'She's nothing like Bella,' Lucius snapped.

'And she's nothing like Lily, although one might argue that she has the best of both.'

The thunderclouds lifted from Lucius's forehead. 'A very accurate description. And it explains why we're both attracted to her. The crucial question being, do we want to share?'

Eyes half-closed and a lazy smile playing around his lips, Severus said, 'It wouldn't be without precedent.'

'Ah, the halcyon days of our misspent youth. Such fond recollections… You know that there never was another? Man, I mean.'

'Neither was there for me. Probably because I'm not really interested in men. And there never was only the two of us. Always three, and always highly pleasant.'

They both tasted the rosé, which was indeed excellent. Lucius put down his glass and chuckled.

'She gave me Veritaserum,' he said, 'and I had no choice but to take it.'

'She told me. She also mentioned that you'd expressed the wish to fuck her senseless.'

Lucius cringed. 'What could I do? You know Veritaserum, you simply don't stand a chance. I thought she'd hex me. I have to say I was very surprised when she didn't.'

'Hmm.' Severus cocked his head. 'No, she didn't seem to be averse to the idea.'

'Really? Not that it is entirely unexpected, most witches don't think they've lived their life to the fullest, unless they've spent a few hours of it in my bed.'

'I don't think Hermione is that kind of witch, Lucius.'

'Probably not. We've met socially often enough; she would've had ample occasion to make any such wish known to me. Which makes the fact that she didn't hex me all the more astonishing. So, what i_did_ /ishe say? Don't be so tedious, Severus.'

Considerably intrigued by Lucius's rather uncharacteristic show of curiosity, Severus took his time savouring another sip of rosé followed by a carefully composed bite of bread, cheese and olive.

'She said – that was after the fight I told you about, so she was probably not quite herself – she said that she liked the idea of being fucked senseless. That, so far, she hadn't yet had the pleasure.'

'Mmh.' Lucius licked his lips. 'That sounds, well, promising.' He took a sip of wine. 'What about you? Would i_you_ /ilike to fuck her senseless? Make her scream? Beg for more?'

'Personally,' Severus said, smiling thinly, 'I think she's such a bossy lady – likely to take the initiative and give you the rogering of your life.'

'You think so? In my experience, women as tough and, well, prim as Madam Weasley often find more pleasure in ceding control.'

Severus frowned. 'And how many, if I may ask, women of that ilk have you had the pleasure of bedding?'

'A few,' Lucius replied, twirling a strand of blond hair round his index finger. 'But it seems' – he leaned back and lazily crossed his legs – 'that the two of us together would be perfectly suited to cater to the lady's every desire. You wouldn't object to watching a good spanking, would you?'

'It would be a pleasure. Whichever of the two of you ends up being the spankee.'

Lucius smiled, cat-like. 'Who would have thought – especially considering how the whole story started – that Narcissa's cockeyed scheme should have such pleasant consequences…'

'Don't forget,' Severus said, raising a cautioning hand, 'that Hermione won't necessarily see things as you, well, we do. I for one don't have the impression she's particularly attracted to either of us.'

'Oh, Severus!' Lucius raised his hand to cover his eyes. 'Severus, Severus. What do you think that little intermezzo was, during breakfast this morning? She was testing the waters!'

'I'll never understand how a dyed-in-the-wool pragmatist like you can be so incurably blue-eyed when it comes to dealing with the fair sex.'

'You may call it blue-eyed, I call it realistic, dear friend. A toast, then. To a successful ménage à trois. May we fornicate to our hearts' content!'

Shaking his head in grinning resignation, Severus raised his glass.

o


	15. Chapter 5 Part 2

How was it possible for your life to be turned upside down and inside out within a mere… what

How was it possible for your life to be turned upside down and inside out within a mere… what? Seven hours?

Hermione shook her head and went into the kitchen to prepare some tea for herself.

At eight o'clock this morning Ron had told her about his plans to divorce her.

At nine-thirty she had realized that both Lucius and Severus were definitely interested.

At one Narcissa had dropped unsubtle hints about her former husband's obvious fascination with the curly-headed head of Law Enforcement.

At two the ladies had joined the gentlemen on the terrace. The gentlemen had been slightly tipsy after their wine-tasting session, and had evidently had a heart-to-heart on the issue. Since there didn't seem to be any enmity between them, Hermione had concluded that they'd decided on competing, using the dirtiest tricks known to mankind and letting the, erm, better wizard win.

At three, when she'd left Malfoy Manor – Severus had stayed a little longer to inspect the quarters Lucius was planning to put at his disposal – she'd seen the look of understanding passing between the two wizards, when they'd each taken one of her hands and kissed it. Her conviction that they actually meant to compete had been shaken.

At three-fifteen, she was standing in her kitchen, making tea and wondering whether she wasn't maybe dreaming.

She took a generous helping of tea leaves and let it steep for four minutes. This wasn't a moment for weak, bridge-afternoon-at-the-ladies'-club tea. It wasn't a moment for coffee either, because, in her mind, coffee was too closely associated with work.

And her thoughts were decidedly unrelated to work.

As far as she knew, Ron wasn't due for his next shift until late at night, but he'd obviously taken refuge elsewhere; not that she expected him to come home if there was the tiniest chance of meeting her here, but nevertheless she retired to her study. The last thing she needed now was encountering Ron before she'd tried to put some order to the chaos in her head.

The tea was strong and scorching hot, and she took it without milk or sugar. Since it was also quite bitter, there was a small element of self-inflicted punishment to its consumption. Hermione promised herself that she'd add a bit of sugar once she saw her way through this mess.

A list might be a good start. She decided against colour-coding it, because that, too, smacked of work and all things respectable.

Hermione thought it best first to list all the tasks she'd have to accomplish in the near future. Once that goal was achieved, she'd fill in the spaces with…

What, exactly?

Dates with Severus and Malfoy? Dates with Severus and dates with Malfoy? Wild shagging with Malfoy and, erm, what exactly with Severus? Was wild shagging with Severus an option?

Wild shagging with Severus was definitely an option, although it was probably going to be very different from wild shagging with Lucius.

Wild shagging with Lucius _and_ Severus? As in, with both at the same time?

Oh Merlin.

What a pity that this was the twenty-first century, when the post-war wizarding society had returned to rather more rigid moral standards. People were being downright Victorian these days. Life was unfair – why couldn't she be queen of a wizarding tribe and have a perfectly legit, socially accepted threesome, like the powerful witches of olden times Lucius had told her about? Out there somewhere, on a site imbued with ancient magic, under the star-studded, clear night sky, with the Milky Way-

Wait.

Wait, wait, wait.

The day she'd gone to Hogwarts and discovered Severus, that had been the twenty-first of December, hadn't it? She'd looked up at the clear night sky and felt this surge of incredible arousal… The Milky Way had most definitely been there…

It couldn't be, could it?

No.

Or could it?

Hermione buried her face in her hands and tried to banish those thoughts from her head, just for a while. She needed to make a to-do list, and that's what she was going to do. Fantasies about magically enhanced sex à trois – and wouldn't one be in danger of freezing one's assorted privates off in the cold? – had to wait. Just for a bit. Just until she'd made that bloody list.

Sighing, she took parchment and quill, and sipped at her bitter, lukewarm tea.

"Assemble Severus's case file" was undeniably the most important item. But she couldn't do that without first having researched possible precedents. If she left the question of Severus's age open for discussion, he might be in for a long wait.

And she'd really like to have that celebratory wine-tasting-cum-dinner sooner rather than later. Severus looked downright cute when he was drunk, and Lucius – Lucius looked like debauchery incarnate.

There she was again. After a few choice admonitions to herself, Hermione put "Research legal precedents" on top of the list. The question was: where to find her sources?

The Wizengamot did of course have an enormous archive full of case files that went back a few centuries, but in order to access it, you had to submit a request for special permission. Hermione wouldn't have had a problem doing that – she was well enough acquainted with the intricacies of bureaucracy, after all – but there was, of course, a But. A But with a capital B.

You had to give very specific details as to why you needed to consult the archive.

Telling the truth was out of the question, needless to say. Giving another reason than the real one was way too risky, because there were magical signatures on the files, allowing the clerks to track exactly who had borrowed exactly which file.

Hermione was prepared to take a calculated risk, but lying to the Wizengamot wasn't a calculated risk, it was professional suicide. There was no way she was going to put her career on the line.

Wait – hadn't Lucius told her that he was something of a History of Magic boffin? That enormous library… Quite a thought, wasn't it? She had more than one week left of her holiday, and Ron had taken the period from New Year's Day till the beginning of school off work. Even if she put in three or four hours of research each day, there'd be enough time to spend with the children, and Ron could be with them all day. That was, after all, the reason why he'd taken the week off work.

Besides, there was the added advantage of being able to rope in the two men and thus save precious time, which wouldn't be possible if she conducted her research at the Ministry. Not to mention that she'd have the perfect pretext for enjoying the two wizards' company.

It was only reasonable, really, to try and get to know them a little better before, well, getting to know them even better.

Very well. Research was item number one then, and after that she'd have to finalize Severus's case file.

What else? Oh yes, of course. They had to destroy the Elder Wand and the Resurrection Stone.

It was absurd, in a way. Harry had accepted to become Minister for Magic because of the wand, and then, during that memorable dinner at Tinworth, they'd decided it had to be destroyed. If the discovery and use of the Resurrection Stone hadn't triggered the realization that knowledge of the Deathly Hallows was by no means as secret as they'd always imagined… No, it was better to go through with it and get rid of those artefacts once and for all. Not of the Invisibility Cloak, because that was Harry's cherished memento and relatively harmless. But the wizarding world would certainly be better off without the Elder Wand and Resurrection Stone.

Harry would probably want to take care of the wand, maybe together with Severus? She'd have to ask him and make the necessary arrangements. This had better be done soon, while there were still no children at Hogwarts. "Destroy Elder Wand" became number three on her list.

Melting down the stone was Severus's task. Could it be done at Malfoy Manor? If so, she would have to supervise the proceedings – although she trusted Lucius more than she'd thought possible, she certainly wasn't foolish enough to leave him and Severus on their own with a magical artefact as powerful as the Resurrection Stone. For the time being, it was well hidden in her house, where it could stay for some more time, until the more pressing issues had been dealt with.

The list now had four items, the tackling of two of which was going to require that she see Severus and Lucius almost every day for at least, oh, two weeks.

Then again, she probably ought to consult Severus every now and then while she was working on his case file – he might be able to contribute useful thoughts and information.

Three items then, which necessitated constant conspiring with the two Slytherins.

Hermione grinned to herself.

Narcissa had indeed done her a favour by following through with her absurd plan to save no.12 Grimmauld Place from a dire fate.

o

In spite of Hermione's newfound taste for life and all things Slytherin, breakfast the next day was a rather subdued affair.

Ron hadn't shown up at all the day before. Later in the evening, when Hermione had made a Floo call to Harry, to brief him about her successful mission to France and remind him that the Elder Wand had to be destroyed soon, Harry had told her about Ron's visit, which had ultimately lasted till after dinner. He'd gone directly to work from Godric's Hollow. Ginny's exhortations notwithstanding, he hadn't yet talked to the children about the upcoming changes in their family life.

Severus had been in unusually high spirits after his return from Malfoy Manor.

Not that Hermione didn't understand him perfectly; his life was definitely taking a turn for the better. He was about to stay with a friend, at whose house he was most welcome; there merely was the matter of a possible legal precedent to his case to be thoroughly examined, and then a high-ranking ministry employee and war hero was going to use all her considerable power to bring the matter to a satisfactory end.

But in the week he'd been staying at Tinworth, Hermione had become used to his company. He wasn't always pleasant; on the contrary, he was often moody, snappish and cuttingly sarcastic. Nevertheless, their talks, irksome though they'd sometimes been, had offered a welcome respite from her day-to-day routine with a husband she didn't know how to talk to anymore.

With the prospect of a divorce hanging over her and Ron's heads, she didn't have trouble imagining her family life during the next few weeks. The mere thought of it made her feel as if a weight had been attached to her, pulling her down, turning every small movement into a strenuous effort.

She'd told Binky to prepare breakfast and returned to her bedroom for a last eyeful of sleep. When she entered the kitchen at an unusually late hour, Severus was already there, giving instructions to the elf how to optimize her already mouth-watering recipe for omelette.

Hermione watched him silently, leaning against the doorframe. He hadn't yet put on his robes and was still in shirt and trousers. Binky only came up to his mid-thigh, so he was bending down while demonstrating to her a particularly effective way to whip eggs into hitherto unheard-of frothiness.

Yes, he'd definitely filled out over the last week, and not in a bad way.

Then, there was of course the voice. A voice so mesmerizing that it had provoked sighs and wistful declarations beginning with 'If only he wasn't such an ugly bugger' among his female students. It was deep and velvety, with just the right rough edge to it to prevent it from being oily.

'And now,' he said, straightening up, 'you add a pinch of baking powder. Not more, mind you. Next time, fry the ham and vegetables beforehand, so the mixture won't be exposed to room temperature – oh, hello, Hermione!'

'Hi,' she said, forcing a smile onto her face.

'Anything wrong?'

'N-no. I'm just feeling a bit under the weather.' And then, because she could, and also because she wanted to make sure she hadn't just been imagining things, she added, 'I'll miss you dreadfully.'

Severus, who had been wiping his hands with a tea towel, stopped in mid-movement. 'Miss me? Hermione, I've been nothing but a bother. I daresay things were going better between you and Mr Weasley before I arrived.'

They sat down at the table, and Hermione poured coffee for them both.

'Not really, you know? Maybe superficially, but things have been less than satisfactory for a long time. As I said yesterday, your presence might have been the last straw – anyway, I meant what I said. I'm going to miss you very much.'

She had the pleasure of seeing him blush slightly. His hair was looking much better, she noticed. Obviously Lucius's hair care products were as good as he'd promised.

'I don't know what to say.'

'Well, what would you like to say?' she asked, smiling at him.

Severus sighed. 'I'd like to say "I'll miss you too", but that sounds dreadfully clichéd. It sounds as if I felt obliged to say it.'

'Do you? Because you don't i_have_ /ito say it, unless you mean it.'

'Oh, I do. It's just that…' He shrugged helplessly.

'All possible emotions have already been expressed in every possible way, and much better than you could, for the most part?'

'Erm, yes. In a nutshell.'

Binky served their omelette, and both tucked in with relish.

'Mmh,' Hermione said, 'that's totally awesome, to quote my children. You know' – she thoughtfully broke off a piece of bread – 'I have pretty much the same difficulty. I don't want my feelings to come out as hackneyed formulas, and so I seldom express them. That's why many people, my husband among them, think that I don't have any feelings at all.'

'That's definitely a drawback of wanting to be unique, yes,' he replied dryly.

'Well, I am unique, just like everybody else is, but language is limited, that's my problem. I mean, even Lucius…' She stopped in mid-sentence, feeling her cheeks go hot. 'I told you what he said to me – even he perceives me as… as uptight, and prissy.'

'To tell you the truth, that's what you project. It's difficult to pinpoint, because it's a mix of so many small things, the way you hold yourself, the way you walk or talk, the way you dress…'

Hermione put down her fork and gave him an exasperated look. 'Not you too!'

'On the contrary. I'm well able to see beyond that. But the armour surrounding the real Hermione is very thick.'

'You should know,' she huffed.

'Exactly. I built one for myself, and I pride myself on being able to recognize it in others. Everybody has an armour, of course. Take your husband – he's chosen the model Village Idiot. You have Stern Maiden. Lucius has Superficial Aristocrat. There's thousands of them, some more palatable than others.'

Pushing away her empty plate, Hermione considered this.

'You're right,' she said. 'Yours is Surly, Antisocial Bastard. Used to be, rather.'

'Thanks a bunch. Only one adjective allowed, though. You'll have to settle for either antisocial or surly.'

'I'll stick with surly, then. It's way nicer.'

They were interrupted by an owl delivering the Daily Prophet and spent the rest of breakfast reading the newspaper they'd divided among them, occasionally exchanging comments.

'Oh, look!' Hermione exclaimed suddenly and leaned over to allow Severus to read a small article on page eight. 'She's such a bitch, isn't she? The first time she wrote about Harry and the Black house, it was on page one, with a big, impertinent headline. And now – ten lines on page seven nobody will read because they're so well hidden in that bottom corner, stating that the house has gone to the Ministry.'

'You really think you'll be able to convince Potter to give it back to Narcissa?'

'She took a considerable risk when she lied to Voldemort about Harry being dead. Without her, who knows how things might have gone. We owe her, you know? She may be an empty-headed, arrogant doll, but…' She shrugged. 'You know.'

'I wouldn't characterize her as empty-headed, although I agree about her being arrogant. She's a product of her environment – pureblood etiquette, the whole rigmarole, you know, and she was never up to Lucius's standards. He wanted beauty, and intelligence, and a hefty dose of feistiness. He wanted a pureblood wife who'd transcended pureblood standards, so to speak. Able to use them to her advantage, just as he does, but capable of playing with them. Narcissa had absorbed it all, but was unable to go further. He wanted a companion but got a dutiful wife.'

'He would probably have been better off with Bellatrix, then.'

Severus gave her a piercing look. 'You seem to understand him admirably. That's what he thought, too – after marrying Narcissa, unfortunately.'

Interest piqued, Hermione asked, 'Did he… well, have an affair with her?'

'More than one. Against Voldemort's will, because he wanted his Death Eaters to concentrate on the cause, not appear at meetings so exhausted they had trouble staying awake.'

Hermione giggled. 'Sorry, I…' The image of Bellatrix Lestrange surfaced in her mind – she'd been a beauty even when madness, captivity and fanaticism had already ravaged her face. 'She was a beauty,' she said ruefully.

'Yes, she was. But she almost destroyed Lucius.'

'How so?'

'I don't know how well acquainted you are with what went on behind the scenes, so to say, while you were out camping with Potter and Weasley. Did you know that Voldemort took away Lucius's wand?'

'Yes, we'd puzzled that together from what we'd seen and heard at the Manor, and from the glimpses Harry got through Voldemort's eyes. And afterwards, there was of course the trial.'

'Three guesses who planted the idea in Voldemort's head. And who constantly humiliated Lucius, because without his wand he wasn't a man anymore… She persuaded Voldemort to take Lucius to battle without a wand. I don't think he's pining for her, if that's what irks you.'

'No,' she said, a little too quickly. 'No, it's just that… When I think of Lucius and Bellatrix, the image my mind produces is of a raging wildfire, devouring everything in its way.'

'Intriguing, isn't it?' he said with a lopsided smile.

'Y-yes, and no. It's also frightening. I wouldn't… I don't think I'd like to be devoured whole. I'd be afraid of losing myself.'

'Oh, it requires a bit of practice,' Severus said lightly. 'You i_can_ /ilearn to play with fire, you know? And once you know how, the pleasure is considerable.'

'Have you… Was it that way with Lily?'

'With Lily?' He shook his head, frowning. 'No, of course not. We never had sex, for one, and besides you need to be an adult, in order to master that art. Teenagers merely burn – if they're still sufficiently green, they'll emerge from the experience with nothing more but a few scorch marks.' He looked at the clock. 'I'm afraid I'll have to go now. My things, which you were kind enough to procure, are already packed. I merely have to shrink the bag and activate the Portkey.'

They got up, and Hermione followed him to the guest room. Already, it looked as if he'd never been there. She swallowed hard to get rid of the lump in her throat, while watching him shrink his bag and search his pockets for the portkey.

'Well,' she said, when he was standing before her, all ready to go, 'that's, erm, goodbye, then.'

'Just for the time being. If your list is anything to go by, we'll be seeing each other quite a lot in the future.'

'Yes,' she said, voice quivering. 'Yes, we will. But still…'

'I'm going to miss you too,' he said, and took her into his arms.

Hermione looked up, into his eyes. 'Really?'

'Really.'

While he slowly bent his head to bring his face close to hers, his eyes never left hers.

So I'm not completely incapable of showing my feelings, she thought when he finally kissed her. And he's not totally hopeless at reading them.

It was a long, sweet kiss that left them both slightly breathless.

'Till tomorrow then?' he said, drawing his wand to activate the Portkey.

'You bet,' she said.

o

'I'd better disillusion you,' Harry said, drawing his wand. 'You never know, there might be people out on the grounds.'

Severus cast a meaningful look around. 'Who in their right mind would venture outside in this ghastly weather?'

The weather was, indeed, ghastly. Whereas there hadn't been any snow so far in the south of England, Scotland had seen a fair amount. But the temperature had risen a little, and now heavy rain was pouring down, whipped this way and that by a forceful wind. It had washed the pretty white coating off the trees, which now stood black and desolately dripping in the snow that had turned a dirty grey.

'Well, there's the two of us to begin with.'

'We have a purpose, Potter. As opposed to mindless strolling through this hell of wet and cold.'

'Better safe than sorry,' Harry said cheerfully and tapped Severus on the head with his wand, muttering the words of the Disillusionment Spell. 'All right, off we go. Be careful to step right into my footprints.'

'I'm no novice, Potter,' Severus growled.

They entered the Hogwarts grounds through the large main gates and cautiously made their way down in the direction of the Whomping Willow. Fortunately, the blanket of snow was so thick that the rain, which had been falling since last night, hadn't yet been able to wash it away completely. It was a slippery journey all the same.

After maybe ten minutes' walking, the willow came into sight, and Harry stopped to catch his breath and look around

'It fits, doesn't it?' he said, turning towards the spot behind him where his invisible companion was standing. 'We're closing a chapter on the last day of the year – almost poetic, isn't it?'

Severus gave a noncommittal grunt.

'You're in a pretty bad mood, professor. Is it because of the weather, or because Hermione persuaded you to come with me?'

'Persuaded? Bullied is the word I'd choose.'

Harry chuckled. 'Yes, she can be pretty forceful, once she's got her mind set on something. I think she's right though, professor. I'm sure that seeing this through to the end will be a, well, healing experience for both of us.'

'There is nothing to be healed, Potter. And if there was, I doubt it could be accomplished by breaking a piece of wood.'

Harry shrugged. 'Have it your way, then.'

They continued their half-sliding, half-stumbling descent towards Dumbledore's mausoleum.

It had been restored to its former splendour after the Battle of Hogwarts, but on this drab, dismal winter day the white marble looked dead and grimy.

'Well, here we are,' Harry said. 'I think it's safe now – Finite Incantatem!'

They both looked towards the bronze door and then at each other. Severus opened his mouth, as if to say something, but then shook his head and silently gazed at the tomb.

'Are you… afraid of going in there?' Harry asked quietly.

Severus's head whipped round. 'Afraid? Don't be stupid, Potter! There's nothing in there to be afraid of.'

'Not in there. It's in our heads.'

'Speak for yourself, Potter,' Severus snapped, but somehow he didn't sound very convincing. His face was tense, and his shoulders slightly hunched.

'Don't you feel it?' Harry pushed up his glasses and continued to stare at the door. 'All those memories – it's as if they're waiting for the door to open.'

Severus sighed. 'I thought you'd made your peace with the past.'

'Have you?'

'I don't know.' Severus wearily rubbed his forehead. 'I suppose it's different for me.'

'Different in which way?'

'Potter, we came here to destroy the wand, not to catch our deaths here while baring our souls to each other.'

'Different in which way?' Harry repeated stubbornly. 'Cast a warming charm, if you're cold.'

'Potter, I don't – oh, all right.' He drew his wand and charmed the snow off a part of the stairs leading up to the door. 'Let's at least sit down.' He cast another charm to dry and warm the stone. 'You're a right pain in the arse,' he said scathingly.

'Yep, that's me,' Harry said, sitting down next to him. 'Now tell me.'

For a while, they both listened to the wind hissing across the surface of the lake and to the raindrops hitting the roof of the tomb in a monotonous patter.

'It is different for me,' Severus finally said, 'because I never believed Dumbledore to be some kind of benign demigod. I always knew him for what he was.'

'So what was he, in your opinion?'

'Albus Dumbledore was a ruthless manipulator, a puppeteer of the first order. Knowing that, there was little room for disappointment.'

'Even that night, when you met him on that hilltop, when you begged him to protect my mother? I got the impression that you were pretty shaken.'

Black eyes met green.

Severus didn't avert his gaze when he replied, 'That night… I learned to despise him. To hate him. It was…' He closed his eyes. 'It was as if there'd been a veil, hiding something I knew was there but couldn't see clearly. That night, the veil was ripped away. Before that, I might have convinced myself… deluded myself, for my own sake, that I was imagining things. After that…' He shook his head and looked away, at the shards of ice floating on the dark surface of the lake.

'But why…' Harry paused, trying to find the right words. 'What I don't understand,' he said, 'is that you didn't turn him down after he'd failed to protect my parents. Dumbledore, well, he literally blackmailed you, he used your vulnerability to make you promise you'd help him protect me – why didn't you just give him the finger and leave?'

'I had nothing to lose. I'd already lost everything – what did it matter?' He slowly turned his head towards Harry and gave him a wry grin. 'I did regret it, later on, believe me. Once the shock was gone, I realized that I'd lost a lot, but certainly not everything. As a matter of fact, I couldn't believe how stupid I'd been, to make an unbreakable vow. It couldn't be undone, though.'

'I'm sorry…'

'I can't believe I'm saying this, but it wasn't your fault. Besides' – Severus chuckled – 'it wasn't all bad, not until you came to Hogwarts, at least. And even then, apart from a few, well, disturbances, I managed to get some fun out of life. It only started to go downhill when Voldemort came back.'

'Voldemort mentioned something about women of purer blood,' Harry said, grinning. 'So I guess you weren't quite the asexual creature we believed you to be. Believed all our teachers to be, come to think of it.'

'Don't be impertinent, Potter.'

'We had that theory,' Harry continued, unperturbed, 'that you were such a miserable bully only because you never got laid.'

Severus rolled his eyes. 'What else could be expected of a bunch of hormone-ridden teenagers?'

'Nothing much, I suppose. But obviously we were wrong.'

'If you think that I'm going to rise to this bait, which is so painfully obvious that it doesn't even deserve to be called unsubtle, you're mistaken, Potter.'

'Doesn't hurt to try. Anyway, I'm glad you weren't just unhappy and pining for my mum. Not for your sake,' he said, when Severus cocked an incredulous eyebrow. 'It's hard to explain – you see, I don't hate you anymore. I understand why you did what you did, and I understand why you hated the sight of me. That doesn't mean I like you, mind you – I think neither of us was serious when we got sloshed at Hermione's place – and it's got nothing to do with forgiveness, either. You used to treat me like shit most of the time, and I've come to understand your reasons. You were a miserable, bullying bastard, but you weren't a martyr. You did what you had to do because of an unbreakable vow you'd made because Dumbledore had manipulated you. As you said, it wasn't my fault. I'm glad it wasn't, because I'd have trouble dealing with that. As things are, I can look you in the eye and say "Thanks for all you did, but I still don't like you." It's a weird kind of peace, but it feels right. And now,' he said, getting up, 'let's go destroy that bloody wand.'

'You're an idiot, Potter,' Severus said calmly, his tone devoid of malice. 'But I admit that you've got a point there. It's not personal, and it never really was. Not between the two of us. I hated your father, but he wasn't there anymore. So I hated you by default. You were nothing but a child, hating me back was a natural reaction. And he' – Severus got up and pointed at the tomb – 'was sufficiently clever to recognize that, as long as we loathed each other, we were unlikely to turn on him. Divide et impera.' He raked a hand through his hair. 'I'll never understand why the Sorting Hat put him into Gryffindor.'

'It offered to sort me into Slytherin.'

Severus turned around sharply. 'Merlin's wrinkly – you must be joking, Potter!'

Harry snorted. 'Wouldn't that have been fun?'

'About as much fun as having your leg amputated with a butter knife.'

'Just think of all the House Points I would've earned,' Harry said sweetly.

'The mind refuses to go there. Now don't dawdle, Potter. Let's finish this business, so I can go back to the Manor and enjoy my afternoon tea.'

'And the company,' Harry said, giving him a sharp look. 'You've become quite friendly with Hermione, haven't you?'

Severus frowned. 'What exactly are you implying, Potter?'

'Nothing in particular, professor.' Harry smiled thinly. 'Just bear in mind that I'm very protective of my friends. She's spending an awful lot of time at Malfoy Manor.'

He turned to undo the wards protecting Dumbledore's tomb.

Severus smiled to himself. If Potter thought he was being perceptive, well, who was he to destroy that illusion?

The door swung open, and Severus ducked to follow Harry into the dark, stuffy room.

o


	16. Chapter 5 Part 3

The rain was pounding against the windowpanes, forming a steady counterpoint to the irregular crackling of the flames in the f

The rain was pounding against the windowpanes, forming a steady counterpoint to the irregular crackling of the flames in the fireplace. Apart from this background noise, the library was silent.

Lucius sat at his favourite desk, a large tome open before him. He wasn't reading, though, but gazing at the fireplace, casting the occasional glance at the woman curled up in a large armchair right next to the hearth. She'd been fast asleep for a few minutes. One slack hand had slipped off the book she'd been studying, and her other hand was tucked between her cheek and the back of the chair.

He put a bookmark between the pages and closed the tome, careful not to make a sound.

Elbows resting on the leather-covered surface of the desk, Lucius propped his chin on his interlaced fingers and, abandoning the pretence of reading, allowed his thoughts to focus on Hermione Weasley.

He'd been thinking of her quite a lot these days, but having her there, right under his eyes, her face relaxed and vulnerable in her slumber, was a novelty. What a thoroughly fascinating woman. He hadn't felt so utterly enchanted by a witch since… well, since Bella. And Bella had been the wrong kind of enchantment, as he'd found out a little too late, when she'd already sunk her claws deep into his soul.

At first he'd blamed it all on Narcissa, because Narcissa had disappointed him in so many ways. He'd been so sure that the impeccable façade was just that, a façade, hiding the real Narcissa, because no woman could possibly be so composed, so detached, so utterly self-possessed. Well, he'd found out soon enough that this was the real Narcissa. There was nothing hidden, nothing to be discovered. What you saw was what you got, and more the fool he for believing otherwise.

He'd first seen Bella at his wedding, but hadn't spared her much attention. Understandable, because he hadn't yet come to know his wife more intimately.

Bella, still unmarried, had been encouraged by her mother to visit her sister as often as possible. Buoyed by Narcissa's success in snaring the Malfoy scion, wizarding Britain's most eligible bachelor at the time, Mrs Black had entertained high hopes for her elder daughter to snatch one of Lucius's pureblood friends.

Bella hadn't disappointed. Within three months of her sister's wedding, she'd been engaged to Rodolphus Lestrange. The wedding had taken place only four weeks later.

Lucius still remembered their first, breathtaking kiss, given and received with equal fervour when Bella had escaped the bustle and heat of the wedding reception and taken a brief walk in the park for a bit of fresh air. She'd been a virgin, as befitted a pureblood bride, so he'd only fucked her the morning after her wedding night, in one of the guest rooms.

He'd been obsessed with Bella, addicted to her. Like every other addict, he'd alternated between helpless love and impotent hate, suffered from self-imposed withdrawal until he could bear it no more and succumbed anew. She would have destroyed him, had he not realized, just in the nick of time, that she was deranged, totally and utterly mad. That had been his salvation, at least as far as his own mental health was concerned.

It had been painful, the realization that she was insane, that her passion was fuelled by madness. But it had sobered him. Made it relatively easy for him to withdraw. The consequences, however…

He shuddered and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, as if to wipe away the images of the past.

His eyes went back to the sleeping form of Hermione Weasley.

A force of nature, yes, he thought smiling. But so utterly sane. So rational and down-to-earth. She knew darkness and its lures, he was sure of that. She wasn't an innocent by any stretch of the imagination; a witch as powerful as she must have struggled with temptation at least once in her life. She'd looked into that abyss, pondered the possibilities and decided to turn her back on it.

Madam Weasley was quite simply magnificent.

He lost himself in contemplation of her face. Yes, he desired to kiss that mouth. He yearned to see those eyes closed, not in slumber but in ecstasy. He wanted to bury his hands in that curly hair, holding her head steady while she was writhing underneath him…

Hermione opened her eyes and looked straight into his.

o

Hermione knew that she was dreaming. In her dream, she told herself to wake up, because this was nothing but a wickedly delicious dream of sweaty bodies tightly intertwined, of her skin being caressed by mingled strands of black and blond hair, of tongues and fingers all over her body, every orifice wet and full and stretched.

Wake up, she told her dreaming self. Don't dream of these things, you're just an ordinary girl, this is more than you can take. You'll go up like dried-out driftwood, you're too inexperienced, too starved, too vulnerable. They'll burn you, can't you feel the heat? There'll be nothing left but ashes, unless you pull yourself together and wake up!

She giggled at the sound of that rational, authoritative voice. It didn't know a thing. It had no idea what it was like to let go, just this once. It was a spoilsport, that voice, sharp and insistent. But it didn't stop, and in the end she reluctantly tore herself from her dream.

Hermione opened her eyes, only to find that Lucius's gaze was holding hers in a fierce grip.

He'd been sitting at his desk, not far from the fireplace.

Now he rose, his eyes never leaving hers.

Oh my god, she thought, he's going to… I've kissed Severus, twice, and it felt good, and now Lucius Malfoy is advancing on me, like a hungry predator, and I can't wait for him to kiss me, to find out how it feels – different than Severus, I'm sure, but I'd like to find out how different.

She kept looking at him, while he covered the distance that separated them in a few, quick strides. She thought of what Severus had said to her, two days ago, that it was possible to learn how to play with fire. She hoped he was right. There still was the lingering fear of being devoured whole. But there also was the desire to do nothing but feel, to turn her back at rationality and common sense.

Lucius was standing next to her chair now, looking down at her with a small, inscrutable smile playing around his lips. Fighting the impulse to sit up and pull herself together was difficult, but she managed to remain as she was, holding his gaze, her throat exposed.

He knelt down, the movement accompanied by a rustle of silk and wool. Their eyes were level now, and Hermione didn't feel so vulnerable anymore. Slowly, her right hand, which had been cushioning her cheek, crept out towards him, open and relaxed. He took it and kissed the palm, making her belly clench with a sudden onslaught of lust. She kept looking at him, smiling. Her other hand gave in to the urge to touch his hair.

There was a moment of absolute silence.

Then their lips met.

Hermione thought she was going to faint from the turmoil of sensations the kiss was unleashing.

With Severus, she'd felt she retained a modicum of control, since it had been her to initiate the kiss, back at her house, and yesterday, when Lucius had briefly left the library. Not so with Lucius. She had the distinct sensation of the confines of her body getting blurred, melting into his.

He withdrew, breathing heavily. His hair was a bit tousled, where her hand had burrowed in the silky strands and massaged his scalp. Smiling, she let her fingertips glide along his jaw, and he rubbed his cheek against her palm, eyes dark and half-lidded. Hermione half-expected him to purr.

'Yes,' he breathed, his thumb caressing her lower lip. 'Just as I thought…'

His hand glided along the line of her throat, and she felt his fingers start to unbutton her robes.

'Just as you thought?' she echoed, shifting a little to give him better access.

He turned his head to gently bite the swell at the base of her thumb, while his hand was still busy with her buttons. 'You're not nearly as uptight' – he kissed the faint red mark his teeth had left – 'as you're trying to make people believe. Quite successfully,' he added and bent down to kiss the breast he'd exposed through the lace of her bra.

Hermione briefly closed her eyes, biting her lip to suppress the moan that wanted to escape when his tongue sneaked out to tease her nipple.

When she opened them again, she froze.

Severus was leaning nonchalantly against the back of the chair, eyes glittering and lips slightly parted.

Lucius raised his head and half-turned to frown at his friend. 'Back from Hogwarts already? But really, Severus. Sneaking up on us like that – where are your manners?'

Shedding his heavy winter cloak, which he carelessly threw on the floor, Severus stepped round the chair and stood next to Lucius, who was still kneeling with his arms around Hermione.

It dawned on her that she wasn't even trying to struggle free of Lucius's embrace, let alone cover herself. This realization was closely followed by the awareness that there was neither rivalry nor hostility between the two wizards. The image of them kissing her hands and exchanging a look of complicity surfaced in her mind. Her eyes, which had been riveted to Severus's face, swept down over his body – good heavens, he definitely i_was_ /ienjoying this! – and onwards to Lucius, whose expression was a mix of amusement, arousal and anticipation.

'You,' she said faintly, 'you two really…'

Lucius moved to the side, so as to allow Severus to kneel next to him. 'That would be the general idea, yes,' he said. 'But' – he tucked a lock behind her ear – 'we were not quite sure of the lady's consent.'

'Although,' Severus continued, his hands gliding up and down over her thighs, 'we did hope the lady might see the, erm, advantages.'

'I must be dreaming,' Hermione said. She felt her heart thump wildly against her ribcage. The heat pooling in her belly formed a delicious contrast to the air that coolly caressed her half-exposed breast.

Lucius pinched her nipple, and she cried out.

'You see?' he said, grinning wickedly, 'No dream. Just delightfully solid reality.'

Delightfully solid indeed. She'd just brushed Severus's erection with her knee, and her left hand was clinging to the edge of the chair, very close to the distinctive bulge in Lucius's trousers. 'I'm not sure I can do this,' she said, her voice a bit shaky. 'I've been thinking about it, to tell you the truth, since we came back from France, but… fantasizing and actually doing it are two very different things.'

Severus continued to caress her thighs, while he said, 'You're a powerful witch, Hermione. Neither Lucius nor I would dream of forcing or even persuading you to do anything you don't feel comfortable with.'

'But,' Lucius remarked, catching her eye while his thumb teased her breast, 'you seem to be quite comfortable with this. Unless of course this is nothing but a devilish ruse, and you're planning to arrest us both the moment we let go of you.'

That made her laugh. 'I could've drawn my wand a hundred times already, if I'd wanted to.' She rubbed her knee against the front of Severus's trousers and grinned at his sharp intake of breath. 'It's just… All this is a bit sudden. Ten days ago, I was a respectable married woman. Today, I'm sitting in this chair – in a rather uncomfortable position, as it were…'

Severus drew his wand. 'A minor inconvenience. May I?'

A few taps of his wand later, the chair had lengthened and broadened into something vaguely resembling a wide recamier, on which Hermione was comfortably resting, flanked by the two wizards.

'Better?' Severus asked.

'Much better.' She smiled and stretched. Looking from one to the other, she asked, 'This isn't the first time you're doing this, is it?'

'Not the first,' Lucius said. His hand stroked her throat. 'But… it might very well be the last. In an absolutely non-lethal sense.'

Hermione frowned. 'Meaning?'

'Meaning that, back in the-'

'Halcyon days of our misspent youth, I think you said,' Severus interrupted him. 'That seems to sum it up quite nicely.' He bent over Hermione and kissed her deeply.

'It does indeed. Back then, as I said – will you stop distracting her, Severus? – I was married, and Draco had already been born. Even if there had been a woman with whom one might have envisaged a more, well, permanent arrangement, the fact that I was chained to my wife and Severus was chained to that old fool Dumbledore would not have allowed for any such plans. As things are now…' He put his hand on Hermione's stomach.

'It's up to you,' Severus finished the sentence.

'I'm still married,' Hermione said weakly.

'Is that merely your way of telling us you won't cheat on your husband while you are still married, or a subtly disguised hint that we ought to dispose of Mr Weasley in a discreet fashion?'

She punched Lucius's arm. 'Don't be silly. I meant…' She flung her forearm across her face. 'Oh, this is so bloody embarrassing. I meant to say that I don't want to be unfaithful while I'm still married, but also that I've only ever slept with one man.'

'One at a time,' Severus inquired, 'or just the one?'

'Just the one, of course. I've only ever slept with Ron.'

'I don't think,' Severus said pensively, 'that either of us would object to a solo performance.'

'Of course not,' Lucius agreed. 'Just think of the possibilities – mostly of a voyeuristic nature.'

'I can't believe I'm having this conversation.'

Still on her back, Hermione propped herself up on her elbows and looked down at the two wizards flanking her. The whole setting had a decidedly Byronic feel to it – the recamier, the two men in their shirtsleeves, their long hair like two shimmering fans spread over the fabric of the upholstery, the shivering half-light from the fireplace.

'Look, I'll have to think about this. Or rather' – she let herself fall back with a sigh – 'right now I have to go home and play the dutiful wife. We're celebrating New Year's Eve at Harry's place, with the whole family, I simply can't afford to have the pair of you cavorting through my mind. The children are due tomorrow – five teenagers, go figure! – and I'll have to talk to Rose and Hugo about the divorce, and Lily's going to be a pain in the neck because she hates me…' She closed her eyes and exhaled deeply.

'That,' Lucius said, 'sounds as if you'll be in need of a little peace and quiet – if your plan to come here for a few hours every day still stands, that is.'

'It does. But I want you, both of you, to promise that there'll be no talk of sex and voyeurism and such things until school has started. I want my time here to be an oasis, not another front.'

'Talking about sex,' Severus said, stroking her ankle, 'can be very distracting indeed.'

She snorted. 'Yes, especially with a voice like yours. And' – she opened her eyes to glare at them in turn – 'no touching.'

Lucius made a moue. 'Not even a kiss?'

'Maybe a kiss or two, but only if I take the initiative. Deal?'

The two wizards looked at each other. 'And after the children have returned to school?' Severus said plaintively.

'If you promise to be good boys for the next six days, good boys according to my definition that is, I promise that I'll think about the, uh, arrangement once the children are out of the house.'

'We're being managed,' Lucius said, shaking his head in resignation. 'Already.'

Severus nodded. 'Just like Potter and Weasley in the good old days. You should've seen her,' he said dreamily, 'Brewing Polyjuice in her second year. And what she did to that bitch Dolores…'

Both men smiled fondly at her.

Hermione closed her eyes, a smile on her face. She hadn't felt that good… oh, for ages.

'Wake me up at six,' she murmured, snuggling closer to Severus and pulling Lucius against her.

She was still smiling when she'd fallen asleep, dreaming of her mother-in-law's expression of surprised outrage, if she could see her like this.

o

Fate was probably having the laugh of the century, because Hermione did indeed see her mother-in-law's expression of indignant outrage, only two hours after she'd picked herself up reluctantly from the transfigured recamier.

Obviously Ginny hadn't been able to keep the news to herself.

When Hermione Apparated back to Tinworth, Ron had been there, evidently surprised to see that Severus was gone. He'd managed a gruff hello, which Hermione had returned breezily before retiring to the bathroom. She'd emerged an hour later, finally sure that she'd managed to wash off the scent of her two wizards – with a good deal of regret, for she liked having their mingled scents all over her. But she'd vowed to herself to let go of all those lecherous fantasies for the next few hours, and so it was probably a good thing that she merely smelled of her own perfume.

She'd then proceeded to dress up for the occasion, not without having to struggle repeatedly against images of blond hair cascading across her breasts and a curtain of black hair descending upon her face.

Her efforts at beautification hadn't been in vain, obviously, because Ron's mouth fell open, when he saw her descend the stairs.

'You look fabulous,' he said.

'Thank you.' She managed a smile that didn't convince her, but apparently it was enough for Ron.

That had been all they'd said to each other before Apparating to Godric's Hollow.

Rose and Hugo had greeted her at the door, and she'd breathed a sigh of relief. In spite of her words to Ron, she wanted to be the one who prepared her children for the shock their parents' divorce was doubtlessly going to give them. She got a hug from Hugo and a peck on the cheek from Rose. A show of unbridled affection, she thought wryly, considering they were trying their damnedest to appear cool and detached in front of their cousins.

Then Ginny came to greet her. 'Ron already told us,' she said, giving Hermione an I-don't-know-why-I'm-still-talking-to-you look.

'I'm glad he has somebody he can talk to,' Hermione replied coolly, in an attempt to say something nice but not too nice.

'So am I,' Ginny shot back, 'seeing as you obviously have better things to do than talk to your husband.'

'Not exactly better,' Hermione said, feeling her nerves vibrate with anger, 'but certainly more interesting. So it was definitely a lucky coincidence that you didn't have anything better to do. Nor did Bill, come to think of it. And whoever else he saw fit to confide in.'

Ginny went red. 'You ought to be ashamed,' she hissed.

'Ashamed of what, exactly? There's nothing to be ashamed of in getting divorced. Besides, it wasn't exactly my idea, as Ron might have told you.'

Lips pressed together and eyes flaring, Ginny stared at her. 'You really don't care, do you? Just as you didn't care about Lily.'

'You probably wouldn't believe me if I told you that I do care about Lily, a lot, and that I hated having to do what I did.'

Ginny smiled sweetly. 'I probably wouldn't. Sorry Hermione,' she said, raising her voice a bit, because Arthur was approaching, 'we'll chat later, yes? I have to pop back to the kitchen for a moment.'

Hermione clenched her teeth and went to greet her father-in-law.

Arthur hugged her and kissed her on both cheeks. 'You look absolutely smashing, Hermione. How's work?'

'I'm right in the middle of a two-week holiday. So far, there haven't been any desperate appeals for help, so I guess things are running pretty smoothly.'

'The perfect moment to consider retirement, then.'

'Absolutely. But I guess Harry won't let me off so easily. What about you? Everything all right?'

'Oh, yes. Yes, everything's splendid. Charlie and Adriana are staying at the Burrow with the children. It's lovely, having them there, almost like the old times.'

He patted Hermione's cheek, a little absentmindedly, and went over to say hello to Percy.

She got herself a drink and sat down on a chair in a corner, sipping and watching.

And thinking.

There it was again, that sensation of being a… a cube drifting through a crowd of spheres. They were all so perfectly round and polished, peacefully orbiting around each other. She was the only one who had edges and sharp, pointy corners, who stood out like a sore thumb.

She'd tried to fit in, heavens, how she'd tried. To no avail, or so it seemed, because she was too different from all of them. With the exception of Harry – in her metaphor, he'd be the polyhedron.

Reminding herself that she hadn't eaten since breakfast – the, well, Incident at the Manor had somehow taken precedence over afternoon tea – she put down her glass and went in search of food.

She ought to have remained in her corner and got drunk. It would have been infinitely preferable to running into Molly, who just emerged from the kitchen, levitating three large trays heaped with finger food.

At least she was lucky enough to grab a few bites before Molly cornered her.

'Ginny told me i_everything_/i,' she said ominously.

Her two Slytherins obviously were a bad influence, because she merely smiled and said, 'Everything? It must have been such a relief for her – she was terrified you might find out that she slept with Harry before they got married.'

But Molly wasn't that easily derailed, you had to give her that. Years of coping with the twins' diversionary tactics had taught her to focus on the essential.

'The divorce,' she snapped, signalling for Hermione to follow her to a secluded corner.

Half-amused, half-curious, Hermione went after her.

'You ought to be ashamed,' her mother-in-law hissed, when they were out of sight of the other guests.

'As I already told Ginny, there's nothing to be ashamed of in getting a divorce.'

'Don't you think of your poor children?'

'My poor children have no idea that their parents are going to be divorced. Nor did I, until Ron saw fit to tell me. But I assure you that I'm going to talk to them before they go back to school.'

Molly sniffed indignantly. 'I suppose I ought to talk to them. You'll merely set them against their father – poor Ron, he certainly doesn't deserve that.'

There was a time for counting to hundred before you talked, but this was definitely not it. Hermione grabbed Molly's arm, noting with satisfaction that her fingers didn't even span half their girth. She'd be damned if she ever had arms like this.

'Listen, Molly. I'm going to say this only once, so you'd better pay attention.' Her nails dug deep into the flowery fabric of Molly's robes. 'If you or Ginny dare say so much as a single word to Rose and Hugo, I swear I'll make you regret it.'

Molly opened her mouth, but Hermione's fingers burrowed further into her arm.

'You know I can make you regret it, and I won't hesitate a single second.' She smiled down grimly at her mother-in-law, who was a few inches shorter than her. 'I've never once abused my power, but so help me god, if you dare breathe a word to my children… The Burrow isn't exactly up to the new safety standards, is it? And I'm afraid you still put out those horrible baits for the garden gnomes – and those are just the things I can think of off the top of my head.'

'You… you wouldn't,' Molly yelped.

'Try me, Molly, why don't you.' She gave Molly a smile that made the other woman cringe. 'I see we have reached an understanding. Now, I'm going to leave this lovely gathering, and you're going to tell everybody that I've caught some nasty virus and just had to go home and lie down. You won't have to put up with me, and neither will Ginny. Considering that I don't want to welcome the New Year in your company, that seems like a fair deal.'

She released Molly's arm and stalked towards the door. Nobody noticed her when she slipped into the entrance hall and summoned her cloak.

The night air was cool and fresh; she breathed deeply to calm herself. She was feeling light-headed – whether it was the effect of the drink she'd had on an empty stomach, or of the confrontation with Molly, she wasn't sure. Head held high, she walked towards the Apparition point.

Back in Tinworth, Hermione chucked off her shoes and went straight to the fireplace.

Was this a good idea?

Oh, sod it.

She took a handful of Floo powder and thrust it into the flames. They flared green.

'Malfoy Manor,' she said, as firmly as possible.

A House Elf's wizened face appeared in the flames. 'Malfoy Manor, I is Popsy, how can I help you?'

Suppressing a snort, Hermione demanded to speak to Lucius.

'Master Lucius is busy,' the elf said defiantly. 'You calls again tomorrow, please.'

Had she really fought for the impertinent little buggers' rights? Hermione felt a little regretful – ungrateful creatures, all of them. Well, she could comfort herself with the thought that she'd certainly not campaigned for this particular impertinent bugger's rights. He was way too full of himself.

'You go to Master Lucius and tell him that Hermione Weasley wants to speak to him,' she said. 'And make no mistake – if you refuse to tell him right now, it'll be clothes tomorrow.'

Throwing her a horrified glance over its shoulder, the elf scuttled off. A few seconds later, Lucius's head appeared in the flames.

'Hermione,' he drawled, 'What a delightful surprise!'

She sighed. 'You're drunk, aren't you?'

'A little. Just enough to give me the wickedest ideas. Where are you?'

'At home. And I meant to… It doesn't seem like such a good idea now.'

Severus's head materialized next to Lucius's. 'Hermione! What a pleasure to – aren't you supposed to be at Potter's place, celebrating?'

'There was a change of plan,' she replied grimly. 'I'm at Tinworth now, and I had half a mind to ask you whether I could pop over to the manor. Unless, of course, you're entertaining females of doubtful reputation.'

'Nonsense,' Lucius said. 'There's just the two of us, two lonely bachelors pining for a bit of female company. Aren't we, Severus?'

Severus nodded. 'Pining, yes. And not just for any company, we're pining for you!'

'Wait!' Lucius said, 'Wait, wasn't there a… a deal? Something about us being good boys and not touching her? That doesn't exactly sound like fun!'

'I would never have agreed to such a deal. Never!'

'Well, you have. And so have I, apparently.'

'The deal's off, for tonight,' Hermione said curtly. 'Not that I'd need it, what with you being as drunk as… as two very drunk wizards. Step back, I'm coming through.'


	17. Chapter 6 Part 1

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE

DRINKING WITH STRANGERS CAN BE VERY RISKY

Hermione hadn't been drunk very often in her life. It was a state she tended to avoid, if possible, mostly because it was somewhat at odds with the self-control she strived to maintain.

This New Year's Eve, however, had been atypical right from the beginning. And so it was only logical – wasn't it? WASN'T IT?? – that, shortly after midnight, she was lying in Lucius's bed, with her back propped up against a mountain of pillows and more drunk than she'd ever been, with Lucius at her left and Severus at her right. A champagne bottle – she'd lost count of how many there'd been before this one – was sitting in an ice bucket on the floor next to Lucius, and they'd deposited a large tray of hors d'oeuvres on her lap.

'This,' she said, 'isn't exactly how I imagined New Year's Eve.'

Severus grinned. 'No, you're definitely overdressed.'

Hermione looked herself down. 'Well, apart from the tray there's nothing but my shift and underwear. I wouldn't call that overdressed. And look at the two of you – you're still in your trousers and shirts, although they're decadently unbuttoned.'

Trailing circles around her kneecap with a forefinger, Lucius suggestively waggled his eyebrows. 'Would you like to see more, my dear? Just say the word.'

'I suppose I would. I'm just not sure…' Slightly cross-eyed, she looked through her champagne flute at the chandelier, marvelling at the multitude of luminous pinheads. 'One at a time would probably be a good start, only I can't decide which of you to unwrap first.'

'Hm.' Lucius cocked his head. 'That's quite a dilemma, and quite possibly the reason why the threesome was invented in the first place. If you're unable to decide, take both.'

'Yes, I know, but I already told you that I don't quite feel up to it yet. So I'll have to choose.'

'Alphabetical order?' Lucius suggested hopefully.

'First kiss, first shag?' Severus proposed, when he'd finished glaring at his friend. 'Not that it really matters, so long as the other one is allowed to stay and watch.'

'Stone, paper, scissors?' was Lucius's next suggestion. He sounded slightly desperate.

'Absolutely not,' Severus said. 'You cheat shamelessly. Last time you used a Mollificus charm on my scissors, so you could cut them with your paper!'

A broad smile spreading across her face, Hermione let her head sink back into the heap of cushions.

'You really do want me, don't you?' she said.

Severus frowned. 'I'd thought that much was, erm, clear?'

'Yes. Yes, in a way it was. But… I guess I'm a bit out of practice, you know? I haven't felt wanted in a very, very long time.'

'I think that can be easily remedied,' Lucius said. 'The question merely is, which one goes first.'

'If…' She turned her head and opened her eyes, meeting Lucius's grey gaze. 'If I decided to, erm, do it with Severus first, would you spend the time, uh, wanking?'

Lucius tsk-ed at the sound of muffled laughter coming from the other side of the bed and propped himself up on one elbow, to cast a sardonic glare down at Hermione.

'Malfoys, my dear, do not wank. Malfoys sensually stroke their proudly jutting manhood, in a very tasteful fashion. It's not that funny, Severus.' He bent down to nuzzle Hermione's ear. 'Would the sight of me pleasuring myself be so revolting, my dear?'

'Not revolting, no. I just… I surprised Ron once, while he was – what exactly was that bit about the proud manhood?'

'When referring to Ronald Weasley,' Severus said, 'you may use "wanking". It's exactly the right term, perfectly suited to the occasion.'

'To think that a few days ago, I would have jumped to his defence… Anyway, I surprised him, and it was…' She started to giggle, spilling most of her champagne on her shift in the process. 'It was so funny,' she blurted out, 'I suppose something's wrong with me, because it probably ought to have turned me on, but I just couldn't stop laughing.'

'The appropriate reaction to a cock emerging from a nest of ginger pubes,' Lucius commented. 'But now' – he plucked the glass from Hermione's hand and emptied it over her cleavage, making her squeal – 'I think there's been enough talk. Severus, if you'd be so kind.' He gestured at the tray, which Severus removed.

The contents of his own glass were strategically spilled all over their squeaking and giggling victim, and Severus carefully irrigated her throat with what little remained in his flute.

'I think,' he said, sucking one wet-silk-covered nipple with relish, 'that a safe word might be a good idea. What do you think?'

'Sounds, hmmm, good,' she breathed, raising her hips to intensify the contact with Lucius's hand that was caressing the sodden silk covering her belly.

Severus smiled and turned his attention back to the nipple. 'Choose one then.'

There was a lengthy silence, interrupted only by Hermione's moans, as the two men continued to tease her.

'Well?' Lucius said.

She sighed. 'The only word that comes to mind right now is "cock", and that wouldn't be a good safe word, would it?'

'Not in this context,' Lucius said dryly and proceeded to lick the champagne off her throat.

'I'm trying, I really am… Oh, I've got it. Skeeter!'

Blond and black head rose simultaneously. 'Skeeter?' they echoed.

'Yes, it's perfect. Because if I say it, you'll be compelled to think of Rita, and even if you wanted to go on, you couldn't, because I'm sure the idea of Rita does horrible things to erections.'

'Not to fingers and tongues, though,' Lucius said, 'But very well. Skeeter it is.'

When she Apparated back to Tinworth shortly before daybreak, Hermione realized that she hadn't said "Skeeter" once.

o

'Mum, are you sure you're okay?' Rose's eyes anxiously followed her mother as she hobbled from the table to the kitchen counter.

'Yes, darling. I'm fine. I seem to have…' She'd meant to tell her daughter that she'd put out her back, but remembered that she was supposed to have caught the flu. 'I had a bit of Firewhisky with my Pepper Up last night, to increase the effect, you know, and it seems I fell asleep in an awkward position. But it's just my back that hurts, nothing serious.'

'You don't look well, mum.'

'Of course I don't, darling. I haven't slept well, and my back hurts – I merely need a few painkillers and I'll be as right as rain, you'll see.'

She hoped the painkillers were as good as the description on the package promised – specifically for headaches and muscle pains, it said – and would help with all those sore muscles. Every single inch of her body was hurting, each movement a delicious reminder of how exactly this or that part had come to ache. Those bastards – they hadn't given her one single second of respite.

Hermione suppressed a moan when she reached up to the upper shelf to fish for the Muggle pills she always kept there. She returned to the table, where her two children were sitting, and winced when she lowered herself into a chair. It wasn't only the muscles; other, more delicate parts hurt as well…

'Grandma looked very upset yesterday, when she told us you had to leave,' Hugo said.

'I'm sure she did,' Hermione said grimly. 'She probably thought I was coming down with the Dragon Pox,' she added, more lightly.

Hugo's eyes went wide. 'It's not the Dragon Pox, is it, mum? You're not just pretending you're all right so we don't worry?'

'No, baby. I assure you, it's just my back and lack of sleep.' And my thighs, my arms, my shoulders, hell, even my feet. I wasn't aware that feet can be so important; I'd never before considered using them that way.

Resolutely pulling herself together, Hermione waited until Binky had finished putting their food and drinks on the table. She was sure of her elf's loyalty, but felt that the discussion they were going to have was too intimate even for Binky to witness.

'So,' she said, once they were alone, 'did you come over so early because you were worried?'

She hadn't slept more than two hours, and it had been the light troubled sleep of exhaustion. The noise of her children arriving by Floo had woken her immediately and allowed her to somewhat compose herself before they'd cautiously entered the bedroom.

Although so tired that felt she could sleep for a hundred years, Hermione was nevertheless glad to have Rose and Hugo here with her, before the others arrived. It made things much easier; of course she could've taken them aside at another time, but right now they were here of their own volition, a little anxious because their mother was ill. It was the perfect moment.

Besides, she wasn't capable of lying to them.

Not that she intended to tell them the whole truth, at least not now, but she felt clearly that her children, not Ron, were the moral authority here, as far as the divorce was concerned. As for the rest, she'd have to rely on her own conscience. She only hoped they'd understand.

Rose, used to her brother doing all the talking, merely nodded.

'It's the first time I remember you being ill,' he said, 'I mean really ill. It was New Year's Eve, so you'd have to be very ill to leave, that's what I thought. Dad didn't seem too worried, and aunt Ginny said it was probably nothing, but Grandma was looking quite troubled, and so we didn't know what to do – I said to Rose that we ought to go after you immediately, but Rose said that wasn't necessary, and that you probably wanted to lie down and be left in peace, if you didn't feel well. So we quarrelled a bit, and then I said, why don't we sneak off to bed right after midnight and go home early tomorrow, the others won't wake up before noon, so I could set the alarm for seven – that's not a problem, because when we're at school, and there's exams or sometimes we get so much homework, we go to bed after midnight and get up at six, so we're practically used to it.'

Taking advantage of the short pause Hugo needed to make in order to take a sip of cocoa – even if he had gills to breathe through, he hadn't yet learned to drink through them – Hermione said, 'I wasn't that ill, to tell you the truth. I had an… altercation with grandma, after which I was very angry. So I used the, erm, slight cold I had as a pretext to leave the party.'

'You and grandma never got on too well,' Rose said, matter-of-factly. 'But she must've made you pretty mad, otherwise you wouldn't have left, would you?'

'Yes, she did, and no, I wouldn't.' The pills were taking effect, and she finally found a more comfortable position.

'But…' Hugo was visibly processing the information. 'You didn't fight because of us, did you? Because we've been behaving really well…' He fell silent, probably subjecting the last week to a detailed mental examination.

Rose smiled grimly. 'It was about Lily, wasn't it? I know something happened – she came home a few days ago with Uncle Harry, and she was looking awful. They went straight to Aunt Ginny, and when I saw Lily again, her eyes were all red and puffy. And later I overheard Aunt Ginny and her talking about you – what happened?'

'I'm afraid I can't tell you, because it's confidential.'

'Confidential?' Hugo's eyes lit up. 'Is Lily a suspect? What did she do, mum? Will she have to go to jail?'

'No, darling. It had to do with an investigation, but Lily was neither a suspect, nor will she go to jail. But…' Hermione sighed and tried to find a way of telling her children as much as possible without compromising Severus or Lily. 'She'd told me something, in strict confidence, and it turned out that it was important information related to that investigation, only she didn't know it was. Therefore I had to officially question her at my office, and, as you might know, one can't question a minor without their father or mother being present. So I had to tell Harry what she'd told me in confidence, and that's why she was so angry with me. Anyway, that wasn't the reason for my disagreement with grandma. There's something else – something important I have to tell you.'

'Something important,' Hugo declared gloomily, 'is almost never good.'

Smiling in spite of herself, Hermione shook her head. 'No, it isn't. But whether good or bad, what's important is talking about things, don't you agree?'

Rose stirred her cocoa and said, without looking up, 'So it's obviously something we absolutely have to know. Something that involves us?'

'Yes, it does involve you. Unfortunately you won't have a say in the matter, so the whole business is rather unfair, I'm afraid.'

There we go, she thought, now there's no going back – I have to see it through to the end now. And it's so much more difficult than I thought. What if they put all the blame on me? What if they hate me? If they don't want to see me ever again? But I have to tell them all the same.

She inhaled deeply and took a fortifying gulp of coffee.

'Your father and I,' she began, 'haven't been making each other very happy for a rather long time. As you can probably imagine, living together in the same house isn't easy, if two people aren't happy with each other. So we have decided to, well, get a divorce. I'm sure we both tried as hard as we could to make it work, but the time has come to acknowledge that, in spite of our best efforts, we can't. How do you feel about that, you two?'

Much to her surprise, Rose was the first to answer. Usually she ceded the stage to her talkative brother, but this was a serious issue, and she was the elder sibling.

'You've always been fighting a lot, haven't you?'

'We're very different,' Hermione replied cautiously, not sure of the direction this was going to take. She was, however, more than a little surprised that this was how Rose perceived her parents' relationship – she'd been convinced that she and Ron had always conducted their arguments in a rather discreet fashion, with a few exceptions.

'But you don't love each other anymore.' It was a statement rather than a question, but Rose looked expectantly at her mother.

'That's a difficult question for me to answer. Love is… It's a very delicate thing. Something you have to treasure and protect, so it can stay alive and eventually grow. Dad and I were very much in love when we got married, but we were also very young. You know all the stories – how we fought Lord Voldemort, how we had to grow up a little too quickly. I'm glad we did what we did, and of course I'm glad I married dad, because otherwise I wouldn't have you two in my life.

'What I want to say is, we weren't what you'd call normal people. First there was all the trouble with Voldemort, and afterwards we were heroes – I know it sounds fantastic, being a hero and all that, but believe me, it's pretty difficult.

'So Dad and I got married – if I look back at the young couple we were, I can see now that we didn't have the first idea about love. We thought it was enough to be in love, and the rest was somehow going to arrange itself. But it didn't, because, as I said, we're two very different people, with different values, we want different things from life… that kind of different. People often say they've grown apart, but that's not quite true, I think. They merely didn't manage to grow close.'

'You mean' – Hugo cocked his head and frowned – 'you just used it all up? Like money?'

'Don't be silly, Hugo,' his sister reprimanded him, 'Love is something abstract, and there's never a finite quantity of something abstract, which means you can't use it up.'

Hermione patted Hugo's hand – he was already giving Rose dirty looks, and she didn't want them to squabble.

'I'm sure it's still there, but right now it's obscured by so many other emotions. Anger, for example, and disappointment, and sadness. The problem is, we can't just make those other feelings go away, because it's our living together that causes them. So the only sensible thing to do is to acknowledge that fact and draw the consequences. And if there were only the two of us, I suppose we might have gone our separate ways a lot earlier. But children need a family.'

'We're still children,' Hugo said. 'At least that's what you keep telling us if there's something you don't want us to do. Like when I wanted to work with Uncle Charlie, and you said I was still too young.'

A sudden rush of anger at Ron made her grip her mug harder. He had made the decision – she probably wouldn't have abandoned all reason and started an affair with Lucius and Severus if he hadn't. It was all his fault, so why was she being so bloody fair? Now she had to find an excuse for his rotten timing, and it would have to be a pretty good excuse, because her children weren't stupid.

'You're both at Hogwarts now,' she said haltingly, 'and you've both settled in so well, found friends. We thought we might risk it now.'

Rose put down her mug with rather more noise than necessary and shook her red curls. 'I thought you meant to tell us the truth, mum. But I can't really imagine you and dad waking up one day and realizing that this was the perfect time to get divorced. Besides' – she shot Hermione a piercing look – 'you're talking about differences all the time. And suddenly it's all "we thought" and "we did". You fight about everything, but you're suddenly joined at the hip when it comes to the divorce? Sorry mum, but I don't believe you.'

No, her children were definitely not stupid.

'Well, you see-' she began, but Rose held up a hand.

'You're chewing your lip, mum. Don't even try. Who wants the divorce, you or dad?'

'Darling, it doesn't matter – we both-'

Cheeks flushed, Rose leaned forward. 'Listen, mum. Either we're old enough, or we aren't. You can't have it both ways. So please make your mind up now whether we're old enough to learn the whole truth, and then tell us or don't. But don't play games with us!'

'It's… darling, believe me, it's not a game! I merely…' She fell silent, trying to swallow the rising tears.

'You merely what? Are you afraid Hugo and I are going to hate you or dad forever, because you decided you don't want to be married anymore?'

'I don't like it,' Hugo said, his voice small.

'Nor do I, Hugo. I hate it every bit as much as you, but this isn't about us!'

'It is, but like mum said, we don't get to decide!'

Hermione surreptitiously wiped her eyes. 'Only dad and I can decide what to do with our lives. It sounds terribly harsh, but that's how it works, darling. But on the other hand, neither dad nor I will force you to decide whether you want to stay with him or me. There won't be an either-or decision. We'll find a way, I promise!'

'It's dad, isn't it?' Rose said quietly. 'If it was you, you'd have told us already, because you're the kind of person who always faces the consequences.'

'Rose, please…'

'I promise I won't throw things at him. But you have to tell us why.'

'It's not that easy, Rose, darling. It's all mixed up with work, unfortunately.'

'Did you do something bad, mum?' Hugo had gone pale. 'Did you do something so bad that he doesn't want to be married to you anymore?'

Hermione tried to smile, but all she managed was a grimace. 'I'll try to tell you as much as I can, and you'll be the judge. And you, Rose. I can't change what I did, but if you think it was bad, I'll accept that.'

'I'm sure you can't do anything bad, mum.'

'Shut up, Hugo. Let her tell the story.'

Hugo looked mutinous but held his silence under his sister's threatening glare.

'All right,' Hermione said. 'Let me see… During the war we fought against Voldemort, there was a man about whose loyalties we weren't quite sure. In the end, it turned out that he was on our side, but… He'd gone missing during the battle and was later declared dead. Imagine my surprise when I met just that man, some time ago. I'd believed he was dead, like everybody else did. Now, if somebody is officially dead, they don't officially exist, even if they're really alive. They can't buy a wand, for example, or rent a house, or get a job. It's not a pleasant situation, and so I offered to help him. I took him back here with me and offered to shelter him until I'd sorted out the whole legal business about his reappearance. Unfortunately, even though he was on our side, he did some pretty nasty things during the war, and therefore dad didn't want him to stay here, at our house.'

'Where did he go, then?' Hugo asked.

'Oh, he did stay here for about a week, and then a friend of his offered to put him up for as long as he wanted.'

Hugo nodded, in agreement. 'So you didn't let dad throw him out. That's good, it wouldn't have been right to send him away all on his own. So dad was angry and said he wanted a divorce?'

'The story is of course a little more complicated, but that's the gist of it. It was only the last straw, though. Dad wouldn't have wanted a divorce merely because of that man. But you know how it is – it's never this or that in particular. There's one thing, and then another and another, until the moment comes when it's all too much. And obviously offering that man to stay at our house was, as they say, the straw that broke the camel's back.'

Hermione went to refill the children's mugs and decided that maybe some cocoa might be good for her circulation. She was feeling very queasy from the coffee and lack of sleep.

'But what about you?' Rose said, when she'd sat back down. 'You didn't just say, okay, fine, let's have a divorce, did you?'

'I did, more or less. I don't know how to explain it… You know the feeling, when you've been outside all day, playing Quidditch and running and swimming, and you absolutely don't want to stop? Sooner or later you have to, because I call you in for dinner, and only when you sit down at the table or take a bath do you feel how immensely tired you are?'

'That's Hugo's field of expertise,' Rose said tartly. 'But I know what you mean – happens to me all the time when I stay up late, studying.'

'Well, the same happens when you're emotionally tired. I'd been going on and on for years, we had our fights, and we talked less and less, but life wasn't so bad, all things considered. I had you, and I had my work, I was healthy – somehow I never realized that my marriage was slowly crumbling. It was only when dad told me he'd had enough, that I suddenly became aware of how badly things had been going for quite some time. And I'd invested so much energy in keeping them going, that all of a sudden I didn't have any left. I was, I am so tired that I merely said yes, all right, let's have that divorce.'

Hugo considered this, then said, 'But you could still tell dad that you don't want it, couldn't you?'

'The truth, my darling, is that I couldn't, because I don't want to. I know it sounds awful, but that's how I feel.'

All she wanted to do now was go to bed, bury her head under the pillow and cry for a bit, and then sleep. Sleep for hours, days, if possible.

But they kept on talking and talking, and by the time Ron arrived at Tinworth, with his niece and nephews in tow, Rose and Hugo went to hug their father, and Hermione felt she hadn't done too badly.

o


	18. Chapter 6 Part 2

Dear readers,

Dear readers,

this chapter was originally longer and, well, jucier. Since fanfiction net sets certain standards for rating, however, and considering that these standards don't allow for certain degrees of juiciness, I cut out the racy bit.

If you want to read the full-length version - and please do so ONLY IF YOU ARE 18 OR OLDER!! - you can find it here: sshg-mod./102806.html

Also, I would like to thank those who reviewed for the trouble they took (it has to be troublesome, to judge by the hit/review ratio) and for the kind and insightful comments they have left.

o

Her next visit at Malfoy Manor took place on 2 January. In the beginning, Hermione felt as if she was having a rather strange dream, of the kind where everything seems normal but isn't quite right.

The two wizards had promised to stick to their previous deal – given the state of boneless contentment they'd been in, they would've promised anything – and Hermione was still tired from everything she'd accomplished yesterday. Apart from her emotional exhaustion, she'd also slept very badly and felt that sex was the last item on her agenda right now.

But only temporarily, or so it seemed.

The moment she crossed the threshold and laid eyes on Severus and Lucius, she realized that something very similar to a tsunami was taking place in her head. The momentary lag of desire was followed by a tidal wave of images and memories of their night together rushing back into her mind. Though by no means prone to such ethereally feminine reactions as swooning, Hermione had trouble controlling her legs – the treacherous limbs obviously wanted her to lie down on the first available horizontal surface and give herself over to her two wizards' tender loving care.

Both men were already swooping down on her to collect their toll – welcome and goodbye kisses of the chaste variety had been explicitly allowed.

Hermione took a step back.

'I don't think that's a good idea,' she said, aware that she was blushing fiercely.

'Regrets?' Lucius asked, smirking in a way that made her face go even hotter.

'Or are you afraid that you might succumb to our irresistible charm?' Severus inquired. His eyes were glittering.

'The latter, you smug bastard,' Hermione ground out through clenched teeth.

'The problem,' Lucius observed, while she handed her cloak to a waiting elf, 'is of course that you owe each of us a kiss, just a platonic little peck on the cheek, a trifle, really. But they are part of the deal, and I, for one, am not known for easily renouncing my due. That, however, means that kisses due but not granted shall be put on the tab, so to speak.'

Severus nodded. 'Perfectly obvious. One also ought to ponder the question of accumulating interests. A rate of fifty percent seems quite reasonable, doesn't it?'

'Fifty percent?' Hermione gasped, staring at them both in turn, 'That's usury! Besides, this is a totally silly discussion!'

Lucius slipped an arm around her shoulders. 'You made the rules, my dear, and you forgot to provide any regulations for that admittedly unforeseeable eventuality – who wouldn't want to kiss me, after all? – but that oversight on your part doesn't make this a silly discussion. But' – he positioned her with her back against him, hands on her shoulders – 'you don't like to admit your mistake, now do you?'

Severus stepped closer to them, until he was standing a scant few inches from Hermione.

'Well,' he said, 'what's it going to be? A kiss now, or a fifty percent interest rate on any kisses withheld?'

'You…' She stared defiantly up at Severus, trying to cope with the onslaught of indignation, lust and laughter bubbling up within her.

'Ye-es?' he said silkily.

'You're absolutely insufferable! You too,' she added, craning her head to glare at Lucius.

'Maybe,' Lucius said, 'but that doesn't answer Severus's question.'

'All right,' she huffed. 'One kiss each. On the cheek. And no tongues!'

'That last proviso' – Severus bent down and cupped her jaw – 'makes the first one appear a little doubtful. Why would I use my tongue, if all you want me to kiss is your cheek?'

His mouth kept lingering close to hers.

'I would also like to point out the most unsatisfactory use of the term "cheek",' Lucius said gravely.

'Oh, come now! Honestly – does it matter whether it's the left or the right one?'

He chuckled. 'Not left or right, sweet. Face or' – one hand left her shoulder to pat her arse – 'posterior, to use the least shocking term that comes to mind.'

In the end, she got a thorough and very satisfactory snogging from both, first leaning back against Lucius, while Severus plundered her mouth, and then reversing the position.

'That was definitely not what I had in mind,' she growled, when they had adjourned to the library.

'Which explains why you put up such a resistance,' Lucius replied, tousling her hair.

'What would've been the point,' she shot back, 'given your blatant disregard of the rules? And no, that doesn't mean you can drag me off to bed now, and I won't say a word! Stop it!' She swatted at Severus's hand that was caressing her nape. 'Have you done your homework?'

'You didn't expect us to finish it all?' Severus asked, stunned. 'Even if we had actually worked all day long, we'd-'

'What exactly do you mean by "even if"? What else did you have to do?'

'Catch up on sleep, for instance.' Lucius examined his fingernails. 'Then, there was of course breakfast and lunch, not to forget dinner. Elevenses, afternoon tea – one does have one's obligations, you know?'

Hermione shot up from her armchair and advanced on the blond wizard, head thrust forward and fists firmly propped on her hips. 'I i_beg_ /iyour pardon? I managed to write up a draft of most of Severus's case file, in spite of my house being invaded by five teenagers, I had a talk with my children that was so emotionally draining that… Well, emotionally draining, and you-'

She wasn't quite sure how they'd accomplished it, but she found herself sandwiched between the two of them once again.

'Delightful,' Lucius drawled.

'Unspeakably delightful. I told you she'd swallow it hook, line and sinker.'

Lucius put a finger under her chin and gently forced her to look him in the eyes. 'If – hypothetically speaking, of course – if we had finished our, erm, homework, and done it exceedingly well, would you consider coming to bed now?'

'You are being totally insufferable, both of you.'

'Duly noted,' Severus said from behind her, 'but you already said that, if memory serves me right.'

'Yes, but… Why are you being so… so rambunctious? You're Slytherins, you're expected to be smooth and sarcastic, not as frisky as two puppies! What's the matter with you?'

Severus snorted. 'Twenty-two years without sex, not to mention the three years before that, tend to create a certain, erm, friskiness, although I strongly object to the term.'

'What's i_your_ /iexcuse, then?'

'Hormones, I suppose,' Lucius replied, 'A veritable flood of hormones, triggered by our memorable night. And there's the by no means negligible fact that our deal seems a little, well redundant, considering that you already cheated on your husband in a most thorough fashion.'

'And in many different positions,' Severus added.

Hermione closed her eyes in an attempt to pull herself together. They were, of course, right. Their so-called deal wasn't merely redundant, it was absolutely ridiculous, given that they'd spent a whole night fucking each other senseless. Alea iacta est, Caesar had said after crossing the Rubicon. Well, she too had crossed the Rubicon, and there was no going back. The dice had fallen – she couldn't un-cheat on Ron.

So what exactly was the bloody point of denying herself something she craved so much?

She hadn't seen her two wizards all day yesterday, and had it made her feel any better? No. On the contrary, her thoughts had scuttled back to the memories of the night before whenever her control had slackened.

Maybe having more sex was the right cure for fantasies of having more sex? Like eating was the best method to fight hunger? Or sleep for tiredness?

Now wasn't that an alluring idea?

'I want to see your results first,' she finally said. 'And then I'll decide.'

Lucius gave her a level look. 'Hermione, you look exhausted, tired and very, very edgy. For the sake of my library, which I do not want to share the fate of my mirrors: Sit down, have some tea, and tell us why you are in this state of nervous agitation!'

'I'm not…'

Her indignant protestations cut off by Severus's finger on her lips and his arm around her shoulder, Hermione let herself be guided towards the fireplace. The recamier hadn't been transfigured back. She lowered herself on it and tried to smile up at the two men, but even the tiny muscles that ought to have lifted the corners of her mouth were too tired.

'Yes, you are,' Severus said sternly. 'You need some food and tea, and then maybe a glass of something stronger, and then a massage, I'd say. And Lucius is right – you have to tell us.'

He sat down on the edge of the sofa and slipped the shoes off her feet, while Lucius gave orders to a House Elf.

'That's not – oh my god!' Hermione moaned, when strong fingers began to knead her feet. 'That hurts!'

'Only for a little while.' Lucius, who'd taken off his robes, motioned for her to make room and sat down as well. 'But you'll see' – he took her left hand and began to gently massage the fingers, one by one – 'how good it feels once we've worked out the tension. Good heavens, you've got knotted muscles in your fingers and palm – what have you been doing?'

With the first pain gone, Hermione felt immensely soothed. The tension seemed to seep out of her, and she had trouble thinking, let alone speaking.

'I told you, I talked to the children yesterday…'

'About the divorce?' Severus inquired.

'Yes, and they were fantastic. It was just… hard work, really, because… because I felt I had to be totally honest with them… So many questions, questions I ought to have asked myself a long time ago…'

Lucius got up and went to sit on her other side, to start on her right hand. 'So what did they say?'

She'd been nodding off – the warmth and the hypnotic movement of their fingers on her hands and feet was so relaxing – and slowly opened her eyes again. 'Beg pardon?'

'What did your children have to say on the subject of the upcoming divorce?'

'They understood. I told them… told them how weary I am, and how I can't bear it anymore.' She turned her head to snuggle against Lucius's thigh. 'Funny thing is, I wasn't even aware of how bad it was. There were moments, of course, but…' She sighed. 'If Ron hadn't said anything, I don't know long I would've continued like this.'

When her stomach rumbled loudly, she sat up.

'I'm hungry. Ron took the children to Hogsmeade, and I didn't feel like making lunch for myself.'

They adjourned to the fireplace on the other side of the room, where the House Elves had served tea.

'I'm sure you won't be able to relax until we've told you about the work we did yesterday,' Severus remarked tartly, but he was smiling at her.

'I'm feeling very relaxed already. But didn't somebody mention a massage?'

'Later,' Lucius said. 'Now we're going to have tea and conversation like the civilized people we are. Severus and I will tell you what we've accomplished so far, and if you deem it sufficient, well, who knows what we might get up to afterwards.' He smirked at her. 'Severus, would you like to do the honours?'

'So you can flirt with Hermione while I'm talking?'

'I know from experience that you're able to do both at the same time, so I'm not really at an advantage, even if I do. Besides, it's your qualities as a teacher she's so fond of,' Lucius replied, taking Hermione's hand in his and kissing the fingertips.

Severus heaved a theatrical sigh and rolled his eyes. 'Very well then. We thought it would be best to start by listing categories of – what's so funny?' He glared at Hermione.

'Sorry.' She had to hold a napkin to her mouth to stifle her giggles. 'Sorry, Severus. It's just so… cute, you're talking in your classroom voice, just like you used to do back at school.'

'Did you just say cute? Stop smirking, Lucius, this is serious!'

'It's absolutely hilarious, old friend.' Lucius patted Hermione's hand. 'You must have made quite an impression on our Hermione.'

She shrugged. 'It was the voice – most of the girls were crazy about it.'

'Really?' Severus looked pleased, but not for long. 'Don't you try and distract me! You said cute, I heard it.'

'I was crazy about your voice, too.' Her fingers still in Lucius's hand, she leaned over to give Severus a suggestive smile. 'Still am, as a matter of fact.'

'Minx,' he said and kissed her. 'May I continue now, or is this civilized afternoon tea going to turn into an orgy?'

Lucius's smile became positively lecherous. 'Well… one might devise interesting uses for the clotted cream. Or the strawberry jam, come to think of it. Though I'm not sure whether I'd prefer to put the jam on-'

'Stop it, both of you!' Hermione snatched her hand back and sat up straight. 'First I want to hear about your results. We can think about the strawberry jam later. Although…' She looked dreamily at Severus. 'I'm sure I'd like to lick it off – never mind. Tell me.'

Lips pressed tightly together, Severus shifted to find a position in which his erection would be less painful, cast a vituperative glance at his tablemates and began, 'As I said, we thought it might be a good idea to first look into the different kinds of not-quite-living or not-quite-dead persons. There are ghosts, obviously, then there are inferi, revenants, vampires, spirits, un-dead and ectoplasms. We've gone through history – as far as it was available to us – with a fine comb, but we haven't found one single case of any representative of one of the abovementioned groups ever trying to reclaim what was theirs while they were still alive. With the notable exception of vampires, who are a special case anyway, because they're never dead long enough for anybody to declare them dead.

'I thought that we might get lucky, if we traced the previous owners of the Avicenna manuscript, which last belonged to Albus. Who knows, one or the other might have tried to revive a spirit or ectoplasm. What we found out was interesting, but not useful for our case.'

'Tell me anyway,' Hermione said. She was feeling considerably better now and had regained full control of her brain power.

'I was surprised,' Lucius took over, 'that Skeeter hadn't discovered that juicy little detail. I'm sure she would have loved to use it for her book. Don't blush, my dear,' he said, stroking Hermione's neck, 'it was an excellent safe word, and you didn't use it once, like the intrepid woman you are. But back to Avicenna's manuscript: It is one of the many alchemical texts habitually attributed to Ibn Sinna, and what makes this particular text so outstanding is that it is bilingual. Arabic on the left page, Greek on the right. A bitch to read. I would hazard a guess that some scholar from Constantinople got his hands on the original, which is now probably lost, copied it and made his own translation, which is the manuscript we have here.

'This bilingual manuscript was somehow incorporated into the emperor's library, where it remained until the destruction of Constantinople in 1453. Like so many other treasures of that unfortunate city, it was taken to Europe, most probably by one of the refugees. To Venice, to be exact, where it found its way into the library of a now-extinct noble family. When the last scion of that family died in 1896 without leaving an heir, it turned out that he'd been heavily indebted. In order to cover his debts, his creditors obtained a court order – all his belongings went into an auction, and guess who snagged the manuscript?'

'Nicholas Flamel?' Hermione said.

Lucius smiled. 'You are irresistible, my dear. Beautiful and brilliant. A lesser witch would've said Dumbledore, but not you.' He stole a kiss and continued, 'I'm sure that Dumbledore came upon it while he worked with Flamel, but I know for a fact that he inherited it after Flamel's death. And I've read it, well, skimmed it rather. It's fascinating, but Severus's recipe is relatively harmless, compared to other formulas Ibn Sinna came up with. As I said, Skeeter would've had a field day, had she known what exactly the old man had inherited.'

'Sounds like you had to pull quite a lot of strings.'

'A few, yes. But it was worth the trouble, because we are now as good as sure that nobody ever tried what Dumbledore meant but failed to undertake, and Severus finally accomplished.'

'No precedents then,' Hermione murmured.

Severus shook his head. 'Obviously not. To tell you the truth, I'm relieved. It's going to slow us down, but imagine if some madman had tried to use the draught with criminal intent. That would be a lot worse. As things are, you might be able to convince the Wizengamot that mine is and will remain the only case. Especially if the Stone is destroyed.'

'Maybe.' Hermione decided that chocolate cake was definitely speeding up her thought processes and helped herself to another slice. 'They're going to confiscate the manuscript though.'

Lucius's eyes widened in shock. 'But I want that manuscript!'

'Maybe they'll just destroy the one page and then give it back,' Hermione said soothingly. 'But I'm less worried about the manuscript than about Severus. I'm afraid they'll have to obliviate you.'

Black eyes expressionless, Severus shrugged. 'I'd already thought of that possibility, yes.'

'And you don't like it one bit.'

'It's not important,' he snapped, his tone forbidding.

'It is, and I'll do what I can to prevent it. You stubborn ass,' she added.

'You make that sound like a compliment,' Lucius said, a little miffed.

'It wasn't intended that way, and there's no need for you to be so petulant. Anyway, you two really surpassed all my expectations.'

'Another compliment?' Lucius asked, 'For our, er, performance the night before last maybe?'

'Lucius!' She stared at the blond wizard, who merely gave her a bland smile and put a spoonful of clotted cream on a piece of muffin. 'You're being insufferable again!'

His tongue sneaked out to circle the dollop of cream. 'Am I?'

'Absolutely. I was praising the work you did yesterday!'

Severus's forefinger sneaked from her wrist to the crook of her elbow. 'Does that mean we're going to bed now?'

Hermione closed her eyes in exasperation. 'All right. But only if I get that massage you promised me.'

The two wizards exchanged a meaningful look.

'We shall endeavour to please you as best we can,' Lucius finally purred.

o

o

'Bath,' Lucius said and wrapped her in a dressing gown, after he'd coaxed her into a sitting position. 'We really have to work on your stamina, my dear. Two hours, and you're practically fainting…' He tsk-ed.

'I suppose you never had to keep going for more than ten minutes,' Severus said, 'and I'm being generous here, mind you.' He took her by both hands and pulled her up from the bed.

'Five's more like it,' she muttered, stumbling against him.

'Just as I thought.'

Hermione let them half-guide, half-drag her to the bathroom. 'I could sleep for years now,' she said, yawning, while Lucius peeled her out of the dressing gown and steered her towards the tub. 'Like Rip Van Winkle.'

Lucius gave a start and let go of her, and she fell into the water with an almighty splash.

'What was that for?' she asked, clinging to the edge of the tub and glaring at her two sopping wet wizards.

'I think Lucius has had some kind of illumination. Lucius!' Severus punched his friend's shoulder. 'You look as if you'd seen a ghost!'

A Cheshire cat smile spreading over his face, Lucius shook his dripping head. 'Not a ghost, old friend. But Hermione has just handed me the key to the problem of your age.'

o

'Well,' Harry said, rifling through the file Hermione had handed him 'that went quicker than I'd thought. Is this' – he held up a magically sealed container – 'the former Resurrection Stone?'

'Yes, we took care of it last night.' She pointed to three vials sitting in a small rack next to the box holding the pieces of the Elder Wand. 'These are the memories – I'm sure the Wizengamot will want to see them. I thought it would be better to present all three of them right away, because even though you can tinker with one person's memory, you'll never get it right if you try it with three.'

'And that Rip Van Winkle bit? Where on earth did you get that? And what for?'

She smiled. 'That's Lucius's contribution. I mentioned the story when… Never mind, I mentioned Rip Van Winkle – it's a Muggle story about a man who's lured by dwarfs to drink with them, falls asleep and wakes up twenty years later.'

'If it's a Muggle story – oh, so it's more than that.'

'It is indeed. It was one of the more sensational cases the American High Court of Warlocks had to deal with, eagerly followed by the press – they only had the i_Magical Megaphone_ /iback then, but the wizarding community was absolutely mesmerized by the whole business. Apparently a copy of the paper got into the wrong hands, still happens all the time.'

'Okay, I'm sure it's fascinating, but what did you need it for?'

'Well, there was the important question of Severus's age. Is he thirty-eight or sixty? We searched for precedents but didn't find any, until I mentioned Rip Van Winkle. Lucius, who's a bit of a History of Magic nerd, was… well, somewhere between happy we'd finally found something and embarrassed, because he hadn't been the one who found it. Anyway, he called in a favour from the American ambassador, who procured a copy of the case file.'

'Ah. So, how old is Snape?'

'Sixty, definitely. He looks a bit young for his age, and he's been insufferably bad-tempered for the last two days, because he'd have liked to be younger, but in the end it's going to be to his advantage: If the Wizengamot rules the way the High Court did – and I don't see why they shouldn't, Van Winkle i_was_ /ideclared dead, after all – Severus won't only get back his assets, but the accumulated interest as well.'

Harry nodded, skimming through the file. 'Looks good,' he finally said and shoved it across the desk towards Hermione. 'We've still got half an hour, so if you don't mind, I'd like to ask you a question.'

'That sounds as if you're going to ask the kind of question I don't like. But go on, ask anyway. Would you like a coffee? And some chocolate biscuits maybe? We're going to need the boost.'

'Good idea. But I'm not so easily distracted.'

'I didn't mean to distract you,' Hermione said, a little piqued, after she'd given orders to the elf on duty. 'But I'm feeling more than a little anxious, and chocolate might help.'

'I don't think Kingsley will make things difficult. Oh, these do look good!' he exclaimed when the required items appeared on the desk.

Hermione merely cocked her head and cast him an expectant look.

'What I wanted to ask,' Harry said around a mouthful of biscuit, 'was, is there anything going on between you and Snape? Not that I would mind – your marriage is as good as over… Ron's an idiot, but he's my friend, and I certainly won't hold this divorce business against him. Or you, for that matter. If things won't work out… As I was saying, it's entirely up to you who you sleep with, and I could imagine worse choices than Snape.'

Regarding her friend over the rim of her cup, Hermione asked, 'Hypothetically speaking, what would you say if I had something going with Malfoy?'

'With Lucius, you mean?'

'Yes, of course. Not him of the receding hairline. He's utterly boring.'

'If you were having an affair with Lucius Malfoy…' Harry thoughtfully dunked a biscuit into his coffee. 'I'm not sure. I mean, I'd understand you – he's everything Ron isn't. I'd be afraid you might be hurt, broken heart, you know, because Malfoy isn't exactly the monogamous type. You're a tough woman, Hermione, but you're capable of being hurt, especially at a time when… well, I guess you're a bit vulnerable right now.' He put down his cup and looked her straight in the eye. 'So I was wrong, you didn't go for Snape but for Malfoy!'

Hermione sighed. She really needed somebody to talk to about her burgeoning ménage à trois. There weren't many people she could talk to about something so personal and potentially scandalous – come to think of it, Harry was her only choice. But if he rejected her… Even the thought hurt. She'd have to come clear sooner or later, though, so why not sooner?'

'You were right about Severus, and Lucius wasn't really hypothetical.'

Harry's jaw fell. 'You're playing them against each other? That's a bit dangerous, Hermione, they might-'

'Erm, no,' she interrupted him. 'It's not like that. i_I'm_ /inot like that. It's… well, the three of us.'

'The three – you mean, at the same time? Three?' Too dumbfounded even to push up his glasses, he caught them when they slipped off his nose. 'But that's… that's…'

'Amoral? Scandalous?'

'Well, I was thinking along the lines of, well, wow! A threesome! How is it?'

Hermione snorted. 'Mind-blowing, if a little exhausting.'

'I can imagine. Personally, I'd rather do it with two women, but…' He sighed. 'I know I ought to, well, play the devil's advocate-'

'Meaning you're pro-Lucius?'

'You know exactly what I mean. I ought to warn you. But… a woman like you, I mean you're well able to stand up for yourself. As for a possible scandal, I'm sure you can deal with it. Your private life is your own business. And' – smiling, he reached across the table and took her hand – 'it's time somebody appreciated you for everything you are. I'm sure those two dastardly Slytherins know a thing or two about women.'

'Two, definitely.'

'I thought so.' Harry shook his head. 'Who would've thought… Do you think it's going to last?'

'I don't know. Lucius keeps talking of a permanent arrangement, and Severus doesn't contradict him, so… Let us say, they want it to last.'

'And you?'

'I'll have to see. It's still too new, too unfamiliar. Besides, mind-boggling sex doesn't imply a successful relationship. But I'm certainly willing to give it a try.'

'Ron might use it against you, though. I'm sure he will – he might try to get custody of Rose and Hugo. Aren't you afraid of losing your children?'

'Wizarding law,' Hermione said, attentively examining the jagged contour of a piece of biscuit, 'is based on tradition. And fortunately I'll be able to come up with a precedent.'

'You're not…' Harry stared. 'You're not referring to Malfoy's tale about that ritual?'

'Ah, but that's the beauty of it. It's not a tale, it's a historical fact. Hard and irrefutable. There's the manuscript, for one, and Lucius has quite a bit of additional material in his library, and then, tadaaaaa! There's magical me!'

'Uh… You've lost me there.'

'Well, you see, there wasn't always a daughter. Sometimes this powerful witch, queen of the clan, bore a son, or no child at all. But the female line had to continue, obviously. For some reason or other, she was only allowed one child, even if it was male. Then, it was back to celibacy until she died.'

'Correct me if I'm wrong, but you're not going to use that as a precedent, are you?'

Hermione snorted. 'Not if I can avoid it. Which I can, because I don't have any intention to get pregnant. No, the interesting bit is that they did, of course, have to find another witch to continue the line, and it obviously had to be someone special, not just any witch. So there were certain criteria.'

'Reminds me of the way they find the next Dalai Lama.' Harry grabbed another biscuit and dunked it in his coffee.

'That's what it made me think of, too. In our case, it had to be a girl, not younger than ten but not older than seventeen – that makes sense, because women's life expectancy wasn't much more than thirty-five in those days, so if she was between ten and seventeen when the other witch died, she was the right age, could've been her daughter. Plus, she had to be a Virgo – that wasn't too difficult, because apparently everybody fucked like mad the night of winter solstice, to enhance fertility, or whatever. As you know I'm a Virgo. She had to be born under the full moon, which I am, and she had to have a star-shaped birthmark.'

'Where?'

'No particular place, just somewhere on her body.'

'And… do you have such a birthmark?'

'No, but there's such a thing as cosmetic surgery, should the necessity arise. I do have a rather large birthmark right next to my navel; it could be easily altered.'

'You've thought of everything, haven't you?'

'Well, yes, obviously. Just like you, I'm pretty sure Ron won't be happy with my new lifestyle – I could of course try and keep it a secret, but you know how it is with secrets. You can never be careful enough, sooner or later it all comes out. Besides, I simply don't feel like sneaking around, constantly watching my back. If I choose to live with two men, I'm going to do so with my head held high.' She fiddled with her spoon. 'Do you think you're… well, going to back me? I mean, I don't exactly hold an unimportant position. If the pressure becomes too much…'

'You aren't seriously asking me whether I'm going to stand by you?'

'Well, you see-'

'Hermione!' he interrupted her, green eyes blazing. 'You're my i_friend_/i! Of course I'll back you. Of all the stupid questions…' He pushed up his glasses. 'But I think you ought to persuade Snape and Malfoy to, well, do something respectable.'

Hermione frowned. 'Meaning?'

'Well, you know, like Malfoy putting up a foundation for the secondary education of Muggleborns – so many of them end up with some lousy, underpaid job, because their parents can't afford to pay for their training after they've finished Hogwarts. And if he's such an asset at History of Magic, why doesn't he talk to Minerva about some kind of visiting professorship – something special for the N.E.W.T. students, maybe? As for Snape, I'm sure he'd make an excellent Unspeakable, don't you think? They're such a crazy bunch, he'll fit in well. If the Head of Law Enforcement lives with a known philanthropist and an Unspeakable, that's bound to make a better impression on the public than you getting up to Merlin knows what with two layabouts, don't you think? Close your mouth, darling. We've got to go and see Kingsley now.'

Harry stood up and held his hand out to her. She didn't take it right away, though, because she was too busy staring up at him.

'I'm under constant, corruptive influence of two archetypical Slytherins,' she finally said. 'But what's your excuse for having become so sneaky?'

He grinned and shrugged. 'Every Gryffindor ought to have some Slytherin in them, don't you think?'

'Erm, yes, it…' She cleared her throat. 'Harry, that was the most atrocious pun you ever made. But you're obviously right.'


	19. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SIX

THIS MUST BE THE END

Since the unforgettable dinner at her house in Tinworth, when they'd finally found out that Narcissa had been the one who brought Severus back, Hermione had been puzzling over the identity of the person who'd informed Rita Skeeter of Kingsley's plans of retirement and thus thrown the snowball which, quite unexpectedly, had become an avalanche of truly astounding proportions.

In the end, she'd settled for Percy Weasley.

It was nothing but a hunch – Hermione was objective enough to recognize that her not overly charitable feelings towards her brother-in-law might have influenced her – but it wasn't too far-fetched. In spite of everything he'd done during the Battle of Hogwarts, Percy hadn't really changed. He still was a pompous, self-important, boring twerp, who silently envied his more flamboyant brothers.

To be the keeper of so important a secret as Kingsley's imminent retirement and choice of successor had probably made his meagre chest swell with pride. But where was the fun in being important, if nobody but yourself knew that you were?

Hermione was pretty sure he hadn't meant any harm. As it turned out, he hadn't done much harm, either, because Skeeter's story hadn't stirred up half as much trouble as the vindictive journalist had expected.

There wasn't much Hermione could do, either – she had no evidence to corroborate her theory and knew better than to cast unfounded aspersions on the Minister's private secretary.

Today's meeting with Kingsley, however, didn't allow for a witness as potentially indiscreet as Percy Weasley.

They entered the Minister's office, where Kingsley was just having his morning tea, with Percy hovering in the background and going through the list of appointments for the day.

'Ah, there you are,' Kingsley said, heaving his bulky six-feet-three out of his armchair. 'So what's this mysterious matter you wanted to talk about?'

They shook hands, and Kingsley gestured for them to sit down. Fresh tea was served.

'Kingsley,' Hermione said, casting a meaningful look at the hovering Percy, 'I'd like this to be a private conversation.'

The Minister frowned. 'Well, it is.'

'I mean really private. Just the three of us.'

Harry looked at her in bewilderment, but she merely shook her head. He shrugged and remained silent.

Percy obviously wasn't prepared to be so unceremoniously removed. He stepped closer to Kingsley's chair, holding his clipboard tightly to his chest, and glared at Hermione. She merely gave him a bland smile.

'If you think it's necessary,' Kingsley said, looking up at his secretary. His lips were twitching.

'I think it is. The fewer people know about it, the better. And' – she bared her teeth at Percy, who seemed about to protest – 'everything's in here.' She patted the file. 'There won't be any need for taking notes.'

'Very well then.'

Kingsley looked intrigued. Hermione thought that he also looked a little relieved.

'Percy, if you'd be so kind…'

'But Minister!' Percy had gone scarlet. 'I must insist-'

'You heard me, Percy. Kindly leave the room.'

As soon as the door had closed behind the enraged private secretary, Hermione drew her wand and cast a strong privacy charm.

Harry suddenly sat up straight. 'You think it was him?'

She shrugged. 'Nothing I could prove, but I wouldn't want to read in the i_Prophet_ /ithat I was right.'

'Erm…' Kingsley looked from Harry to Hermione. 'I may be a bit slow on the uptake today – never drink with a Russian ambassador, is all I'm going to say on the matter – but what the hell are you talking about?'

An hour later, the Minister for Magic was sure he could never stop shaking his head. Which wasn't a good thing, because he was still badly hung-over. Even six-feet three and twenty-eight stones of solid muscle could only absorb so much alcohol.

Besides, his mind had trouble absorbing the truly unbelievable story he'd just been told. Not that he doubted it – impossible to doubt something so solidly supported by hard facts – but he was feeling quite overwhelmed.

Harry grinned at him. 'If you get this through the Wizengamot, you could leave with a bang. Not bad, is it?'

'Not to mention that, if anything goes wrong, you wouldn't have to start with a splat,' the Minister observed dryly.

Hermione was biting her lip. 'I think I covered every eventuality. What could go wrong, in your opinion?'

'I have no idea.' Kingsley shrugged. 'But experience has taught me that things never go quite the way you expect them to.' He tapped the file with his index finger. 'What if they get it into their minds that Snape has to be tried for Dumbledore's murder? There is no limitation for murder, you know?'

'That wouldn't be a problem,' Harry said. 'I have proof that he did it on Dumbledore's orders.'

'So you said.' Kingsely rubbed his bald head. 'And it was sufficient for a dead man to be declared innocent. But is it going to be enough for the Wizengamot to acquit a living man?'

'I have Snape's memories, which he gave me when he died. Besides, there's Dumbledore's portrait – a crafty defence lawyer could call it as a witness.'

'Mmh. Yes, that doesn't sound too bad.' The Minister punched his palm with his fist. 'All right, let's see what happens. I'd love to see that bunch of ossified arseholes thoroughly shaken.'

'Bad metaphor, Minister,' Hermione said, beaming. 'I don't think an arsehole can possibly ossify.'

'Oh, shut up,' Kingsley said good-naturedly. 'By the way' – his dark face became serious – 'I was very sorry to hear about you and Ron.'

'We've had that coming for quite some time. And I think we've sorted it out as amicably as possible – the children took it surprisingly well. We both talked to them before they left for Hogwarts, it's been almost a week, and I haven't heard back from Minerva – I asked her to inform me if she got the impression anything was wrong with them.'

'What about you? How are you coping?'

'Better than I thought,' she said, having trouble to suppress a smile.

o

Hermione yawned hugely and plucked a long, blond hair from her chest.

'Dark green suits you,' she said, smiling at Severus. 'Lucky you – just imagine the Unspeakables wearing yellow or, god forbid, pink.'

Lucius snorted into her shoulder.

'I thought you had a headache,' Severus snapped, glaring daggers at the two occupants of Hermione's bed.

'I did, but then Lucius was so kind to offer one of his wonderful massages. One thing led to another…' She made a vague gesture.

Lucius propped himself up on his elbows. 'Don't be so petty, Severus. You had her all to yourself last week, while I was staying at Hogwarts.'

'So I did.' A grin spread across Severus's face. 'And let me tell you, she didn't mention you once!'

'She didn't?' Lucius turned to face Hermione. 'You didn't? I must say I'm deeply hurt.'

'Poor lamb.' She kissed his throat. 'Is there anything I can do to make it better?'

'Hmm…' A finger tapping against his lower lip, Lucius regarded her thoughtfully. 'You i_have_ /ibeen a very, very bad girl.'

'Have I?' She stretched, cat-like, and gave him an insolent smile.

'Oh yes, definitely. Exceedingly bad. I'm afraid you'll have to be punished, my dear.'

Severus's eyes went wide. 'This is – you can't do that! Today is my first day of work, I can't be late!'

Curls bobbing wildly, Hermione shook her head. 'Men – you're absolutely helpless, unless there's a witch to do your thinking for you.'

She jumped out of bed and put on a dressing gown, the transparency of which left nothing to imagination. The two wizards stared.

'What are you waiting for?' Hermione tied the sash, loosely enough so her cleavage was on enticing display, and reached for a small box on the dresser. 'Come on, let's go to Lucius's bedroom!'

Exchanging bewildered looks, the two wizards nevertheless docilely followed her down the corridor, up a flight of stairs and down another corridor.

'What with Severus and me working regular office hours,' she said, when they'd closed the door, 'I was afraid that morning sex – I mean real, satisfying morning sex, the kind that makes you reluctant to leave the bed – might become a bit difficult to manage. So I got a present for the three of us.'

The two men stepped closer as she opened the box and pulled out a small golden object fixed to a long golden chain.

'How many hours do you think we're going to need?'

'Three,' Lucius said.

'Four,' Severus corrected him. 'I want to have breakfast with you afterwards.'

'Four it is, then.' She motioned for them to come closer. 'I hope the chain is long enough.'

Lucius and Severus each put an arm around her waist and the other around each other.

'It's a bit awkward, with the height difference,' Hermione said, rising on tiptoes to slip the chain over their heads. 'But it's only for a few seconds.'

She carefully turned the dial four times, and darkness encompassed them.

Lucius lit the candles with a flick of his wand and made a sweeping gesture towards the empty bed. 'I have to admit that getting the Time Turner was a brilliant idea, my dear, but it still doesn't quite make up for your callous and unloving attitude last week. Your punishment is still due, I'm afraid.'

Hermione shimmied out of her dressing gown and crept to the centre of the large four poster on her hands and knees.

'An act of brazen provocation,' Lucius said to Severus, shaking his head.

Severus looked his friend up and down. 'Considering a ten-man crew of explorers could sleep in that tent, I'd say it is.' He drew his wand and pointed it at the bed. 'Silk or fur?'

'Silk, I think.'

Black ribbons unfurled from the bedposts and twined around Hermione's wrists and ankles.

'And a blindfold,' Lucius said.

A black silk scarf wrapped itself around Hermione's head.

'What was that for?' she asked, craning her head.

'I said punishment, didn't I?' Lucius sat down on the edge of the bed and caressed her belly with his fingertips. 'Now what could be worse than having to listen, bound and blind, while Severus and I are having…' He smiled. 'A bit of a cuddle? And if you're a good girl, we might then be persuaded to take off the blindfold…'

Hermione gasped. 'You wouldn't! I thought you'd… you bastard!'

'The secret of a successful relationship,' Lucius said, matter-of-factly, and rose from the bed. 'Never cease to surprise her. And now, my darling, I'm going to take off Severus's robes. Oh Mr Snape! Is that a wand you've got in your pocket?'

Hermione giggled and lay still, listening to her two wizards and to the sound of the blood pounding in her ears.

They were in for a surprise, both of them. It was four days before Christmas, and she hadn't taken her contraceptive potion.

The sky was clear.

The Milky Way was a luminous river beckoning for her to dive into it, let herself be carried away, arms and legs spread wide.

When she'd read that bit about the birth mark, she'd immediately cast a strong glamour on hers.

Tonight, she'd taken it off.

The star-shaped birth mark next to her navel really didn't need any cosmetic surgery.

THE END


End file.
